If This Is All A Dream
by pjstillnoon
Summary: A dramatic Callian story, with explosions and guns and romance. Cal and Gillian witness a crime with severe consequences. To protect them, they're sent to Colorado to start new lives in witness protection. But Cal's never been one to sit still for long. Or follow the rules. And when they're forced together, their relationship is forced to develop as well, for better and for worse.
1. Chapter 1

"Let's go then," Cal tries to usher Gillian out of her office but she deftly steps around him and he thinks she's gotten too good at handling him.

"Let me get my purse," she tells him, going to her desk and reaching beneath it. If Cal was standing over there by the wall, he'd have a perfect view of her ass. He's tempted a look anyway, but glances away when Gillian straightens up. He pretends to be bored but she doesn't hurry for him. It amuses him, all the ways she pushes back against him; slows him down again when he gets too manic.

He drives and Gillian looks out the window. This is meant to be a routine interview, if they can find the person they're looking for, but it's nice to spend time with her again. For a while, she had them split on almost every case. Something about spending time with his protégé. But that passed and then it seemed like a good idea to work separate cases to get more done, and therefore more money. And then they went back to working with each other. That's how he likes it best.

"You went past it," Gillian notes from the passenger seat.

Cal has to turn and go back. He parks in front of the house next door and they both get out. It's sunny but not really warm; they're heading into winter (Gillian's kind of like barometer for the weather, and she's not yet in a coat, so it can't be that cold). He steps up onto the sidewalk, where she's waiting for him; then they walk past the hedge together to the house next door. It's a typical suburban home; two storeys, weatherboard, manicured lawn and smooth concrete driveway. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

As they walk up the driveway, Cal thinks he smells something strange, but it's probably just some pungent flower he doesn't recognise. He knocks loudly on the door and it pops the catch to swing open a few inches. He looks to Gillian who hooks back her sunglasses to the top of her head. She is surprised for a second and turns to look out at the street. Cal calls out, asks if anyone is home. He pushes the door a little more.

"We shouldn't go in," Gillian cautions.

"Doors open," Cal points out.

"It's still... trespass."

"Well," Cal turns back to her, his mind made up. In two seconds, he's just going to do what he wants anyway. "What if someone's in there and they're hurt?"

Gillian gives a sigh but she doesn't argue with that and he knows that curiosity gets the better of her, and that she won't refuse to go in with him; she doesn't like to leave him to his own devices.

So they go in.

Cal pushes the door all the way back. It smells strange inside the house too but he still can't place it. Kind of chemically, like someone likes a lot of bleach (he half thinks they might walk in on a blood bath). The furniture seems normal, if a little sparse and they don't come across anyone immediately. "Quick look around," Cal suggests, eager to get into the back, to get all the information.

"Quick," Gillian agrees and Cal can tell without even looking at her that she's apprehensive. "You smell that?" She asks.

"Someone might have needed to do some serious cleaning."

"If we find that, we're calling the police."

Cal grumbles a noncommittal response (but agrees in his head; of course he does) and moves across the open living room, which is opposite the kitchen, to the hallway leading into the back of the house. The door to the toilet is open and the seat is up. Gillian brushes past him to a spare bedroom on the right and pushes the door in. Cal goes further down, following. He thinks about calling out again, but figures that's only going to scare the crap out of his partner. Which could be funny.

"What's in there?" Cal turns to look over Gillian's shoulder.

"A mess," she answers with disdain. He catches a glimpse of rubbish, large black industrial plastic bags, clothes or rags, empty plastic containers, boxes, shredded (or just crumpled) papers, glass bulbs, a trestle table leaning under the window. The weird chemical smell is getting stronger and he really is starting to think someone is trying to cover up the stench of a rotting body.

He tries the next door on the other side of the hall and opens up on a bathroom. The window is taped over with more black plastic, buckets of clear and brown liquids, more rags, more plastic containers, painter's masks strewn on the floor and big plastic sheeting draped inside the tub. No body. But some seriously suspicious items; the picture is getting weirder. He hears Gillian try the next door, probably another bedroom, and he suddenly clicks as to what it all is. He turns to warn her, to tell her to leave it alone, to get out, but he only manages her name and then there's a bright flash, an almost simultaneous obnoxious roar of heat and noise and he's thrown back aggressively. His head thumps back as he lands and it takes him a long time to realise he's looking up at the sky.

The sky.

Like he's actually outside now, somehow. His ears are ringing and his face feels tingly and he can't feel his legs. After that, there's nothing.

**PJ**

Cal couldn't say how long he was unconscious for, though he definitely knows he loses it for a moment either way. It could have been minutes but it was probably more like seconds. That's the only way he can explain what he sees next. He comes around and gains his vision back (he knows by experience that when people black out their eyes stay open, even though they're staring blankly out of them). As he turns his head to the side, trying to get a grip on the situation, he notices that there is a car in the driveway. It's black, one of those big GMC sports vehicles that the government tends to drive around in. Which almost straight away makes him think he's looking at a governmental vehicle. And it gives him a little spark of hope. He thinks it's a rescue.

He's wrong though.

He starts to take stock of his body, his awareness of position and injury come in. His right leg is an absolute mess of pain, stretched out away from him (his left leg is actually tucked under his right knee). The agony is so bad, he can't actually tell which part of his leg is damaged. It feels lower down, around his ankle somewhere, but the pain is radiating up to his groin in bursts of sharp and regular electrical rivers that starts to make him feel nauseous. His right wrist aches, his head on the same side, and he's not sure, but it feels as though he's lying under a blanket of building material. He raises his head a little to look (he's glad that he can at least move that much of himself; he's not completely paralysed) and he's not entirely off the mark. The side of the house has blown out around him and grey smoke is licking around the top of the hole to escape up into a flawless blue sky.

Cal hears the muffled sound of voices and turns his head to the drive again. He makes out the identification plate on the car and focuses in on the letters and numbers. Then two men come into view from around the corner of the house (what's left of the house). Neck tired, Cal puts his head down again, still repeating the plate number of the car. He's not sure he expects a rescue, but he's half tempted to give in to relief. Until the two men get into the car, doors slamming quickly. The engine starts, the car backs away.

That's definitely not a sign of help.

Cal thinks of his cell phone, tries to shift to reach it, but even that tiny movement sends more fiery agony up his leg from his foot and it makes spots appear in front of his vision. They take too long to disappear. His head starts throbbing and he's not sure he can hear properly. He's not sure what he should be hearing. Sirens? Something, he supposes. The smell of burning wood is thick around him and he gets a grip on himself. The house is on fire and last time he looked, Gillian was in there. She was closer to the explosion, right opposite the room with the meth lab that would have gone up. Those things were volatile; any little thing could set them off and the chemicals involved were highly explosive and flammable.

The panic Cal feels makes everything hurt a little more and struggling to get free really doesn't help. But Gillian is in there somewhere, amongst the mess, and it doesn't seem as though help is on its way. Or it could be, but Cal doesn't know how far away it is. And she was right there in front of the explosion. There's a raging fire in the house now, and Cal could guarantee that the epicentre was only a few meters away from Gillian.

Cal struggles a little more, but it's futile; he's in too much pain, has too much damage, is covered by too much heavy crap, and is essentially useless. He does hear sirens though and even though he can't free himself he can make it clear that he's there. A fire engine pulls up in front of the house and flame retardant uniforms descend. They find him easily enough. He tells them about his friend inside and there's a buzz of energy as the fire professionals go about their jobs.

Cal just about cries when they pull him roughly out from beneath some plaster board (they did check his neck first and he made sure they knew he could feel his damn toes). They transfer him to a brace board, then a gurney, then an ambulance. As paramedic's work on him, taking his blood pressure, giving him oxygen, splinting his broken bones (with that much pain, his leg _has_ to be broken), Cal suddenly realises who the two men were who left the house. And it sends a different kind of jolt through him.

That was Jerome Willis and his personal aid.

**PJ**

The door isn't actually closed when Gillian grabs the knob. So she doesn't have to turn it or anything elaborate, barely shoves against it; doesn't give her presence away. She pushes the door open a little and comes face to face with a man. He's in white protective coveralls but without the hood up over his head, and has a white cotton breathing mask over his nose and mouth. He's across the room, but she recognises him easily and it surprises her to find him here. Her existence startles him just as equally. She quickly clocks his outfit, the stench of chemicals, the large industrial sheets of clear plastic hung from the walls and the roar of a Bunsen burner on a work table against the wall. The windows are covered over with black plastic (she doesn't think it's to keep the light out, more like keep prying eyes from looking in).

It's a meth lab. She just walked into a meth lab. That's why it smells so weird. And why there is so much junk and trash everywhere. Even more of the case makes sense now; the vast amounts of cash and the dodgy associates.

In mere seconds she realises what all of this means, the far reaching implications when it makes the news, but mostly that she and Cal are in danger. Not just because of the noxious concoction of chemicals being cooked in the room she stands on the threshold of (completely unprotected too), but because of the people involved. They need to get out of there right now. And they need to start contacting other people, with jurisdiction and authority; someone with some actual power that can make arrests and make official inquiries.

But as she turns to yell at Cal to leave immediately, the man she stumbled upon drops the box in his hands and rushes for the window, tearing back the plastic and yanking it open. He's fast. Like he's practiced this. Gillian hears her name called from behind her but she barely has time to register it or respond. She's just starting to turn back when there's a massive flash of light and a wave of roiling heat. Her hand is still on the edge of the door and she pulls it towards her without thinking, partially protecting herself; the blast does the rest in swinging it towards her. She closes her eyes against the light and the heat and turns her head away. She does it on instinct. And she does it simultaneously; in an instant.

She's being shoved back next, hard, the shock wave of the explosion hitting her. She knows the meth lab just exploded, all those chemicals... but doesn't think about much after that. She suspects she's on the floor of the hallway (or at least somewhere in the house) but her ears are ringing and her eyes are still shut and she's dazed; she can't form a coherent response to anything. She doesn't know which way is up or down, left or right. She's not sure if Cal is near her or far; no idea if he's hurt or needs her help. She's not sure if she's injured herself, unconscious, or if this is all a dream. She has a thought about the man getting away through the window; wonders if he got out in time.

She has half a thought about getting out of the house; knows with an explosion like that, with all the flammable chemicals around, that there will be a fire.

But she's not sure if this is all really happening and whether she's conscious or not. She doesn't feel the warmth creeping towards her. Doesn't feel pain in any way. Can't detect light. She doesn't notice a smell or a taste.

She starts to see colours behind her eyes and isn't sure if she's awake, or if this is just a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

The house, it looks like nothing from the outside. Just another house on a street of Middle America. But it's not really. It's a safe house, or at least, it's meant to be a house where she can be kept safe for a little while. A US Marshal pulls the vehicle into the drive way and Gillian stirs from fantasising about the house next door, which looks newly renovated, or maybe just new, because it looks modern, two storeys, brick and weatherboard, the driveway curving gently up a slight hill. This house though, it's just nondescript. Another holiday home built in the '70's, an odd turquoise colour; not out of place on a street of pastels.

There's a single tree in the unfenced yard and snow on the ground, piled, like someone took the time to shovel the walk, but patchy to let the green of the grass come through; it's thawing. But it's still icy cold and Gillian feels every strained breath deep in her chest like someone's rammed a fist down her throat to her diaphragm. She huddles into her coat a little more, pulls the collar tighter against her throat, trying to deny to herself that she feels that awful from merely stepping out of the car.

The marshal carries the small bag she had with her in the hospital (she doesn't know why, because there is absolutely nothing in it she wants or needs. Except the medications) and leads the way to the front door. He's in a suit, like he's nipped out at lunch to bring his wife home from the hospital, and Gillian wonders if this is the exact image 'they' were going for. She doesn't quite remember what the cover story is meant to be, despite being briefed before she signed her discharge papers; they worked one out for her, seeing as she wasn't really in a position to be able to do it herself. She figures they wouldn't let it go that easily; there may even be a test later on.

The marshal, medium height, brown hair, thirty something by the look of it, whose name began with G - either something Graham, or Graham something – knocks twice, short and sharp, subtle and discrete, then produces a key and opens the door anyway, his body angled, secretive. Gillian follows him. The inside is nothing like the outer image. In here its wooden floors, greys and beiges on the walls, tall ceilings; Gillian can see expansive windows and doors in the kitchen. From the entranceway she can see into the living room on the right (thick shag rug, homely but modern furniture, widescreen TV) and the dining room/kitchen on the left. But she's distracted because someone else is here and panic spikes in her stomach for a split second, despite the marshal moving forward and being seemingly completely unfazed, but it's Cal.

It's Cal.

And the relief overwhelms the panic. He's in front of her quickly, his hands at her arms, dipping his head to see her face, eyes piercing and worried. "Gill," he murmurs and pulls her into a hug, tight and painful, but she doesn't have the heart or the strength to resist him, to push him aside. "I was worried sick," he just about whispers and she knows, because she started worrying about him too. She was in the hospital for three days and she had no idea where he was or even if he was ok. The marshal's, they're not a very talkative bunch, not unless they want something.

Mr Graham/Grant/Gram? puts her bag down at the edge of the hallway, which recedes off towards the back, to a doorway, possibly the toilet by the look of it, and then faces them. His eyes are brown, Gillian didn't notice before. Cal gives her one last squeeze, his arm digging painfully into her back (why does that hurt so much?) and steps back a little. He moves weirdly, a little hop and a spasmodic shift of his weight. Gillian notices the full leg cast on his right appendage. And then another on his arm, same side.

Oh.

Shit.

He isn't ok.

"We'll need to brief you on..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Cal cuts in immediately. "Can I get a minute to talk to my partner? First time I've seen in her days."

The marshal looks stunned for a second, then the tiniest hint of embarrassment crosses his face, before he purses his lips. But the joke is on Cal, because there's that short double knock on the door again (is it meant to be a code?) and then two more men let themselves in. Gillian doesn't get a chance to ask Cal what happened to him, because they're bustled into the living room (where it looks like Cal has been living on the couch for the last however many days he's been there, probably by himself) and they're given the run down, the full extent of it.

Right now, they are in temporary holding, particularly while Gillian was still having medical attention. More permanent lives were being set up for them now, including new identities and a place to live (and once that information is finalised, the marshals will be back to inform her and Cal, and move them to the new location). They need to decide on new names within the next twenty-four hours so that their identities can be changed. The marshal's expect to get them moved within a few days.

Gillian feels her lungs tightening at just the thought of it. She remembers federal agents coming to see her in the hospital, taking a statement from her, suggesting the idea of witness protection (she's not really sure what she saw). She had to sign before she passed into their care. She could only assume Cal did the same (and it looks like he did). At the time, she didn't even think about what his decision would be. She probably just supposed they were in it together; it looked like they were. Or, she had only been thinking about herself.

There are conditions of being in the witness protection program though: they have to testify when the case goes to trial. Actually, that is the main one; in exchange for protection, they have to testify. Whether they remain in the witness protection program after that is up to them. They can leave at any time before trial if they so wish; can leave right _now_ in fact. They can even return to their lives in DC and take their chances that they won't be killed as a result of what they have witnessed. That being said, the marshal's recommend they don't contact anyone from their old lives. No one, who has refrained from contact, has been killed under the program. But the choice is theirs.

They are allowed to pick their new names but their new lives will be set up by the US Marshal's. They don't get to decide where they were going, when, or what they will do once they are there. But they will be kept alive. And the threat must be sufficient enough if they've been taken away before the IV has even been removed from Gillian's arm.

Any questions?

"Yeah," Cal raises his hand slightly, as if he were in school, and Gillian finds it hard to tell if he's being facetious or not. He doesn't seem overly affected by what's happening (aside from the hug at the door) while Gillian's insides are churning uneasily; she's trying to remember and listen but it's starting to overwhelm her. She can feel it escaping onto her face. If Cal even glanced over, he would see.

Two days ago, while she was lying in a hospital bed, it felt literally like she was going to die and now the threat to her life is going to be hanging over her for a long time, possibly for the rest of it. They haven't even been given a specific court date because no arrests have actually been made yet. The federal agencies are still working to make their case (they need evidence as well as their eye witness testimonies). Who knew how long that could take?

"What about my daughter?"

"We're trying to locate her now," one of the newly arrived marshals answers. He seems to be in charge. The marshal's all have common names, like Smith and Wagner, but Gillian can't remember who is who. She is tired and having difficulty concentrating.

"What do you mean 'locate' her?" Cal presses.

"Your daughter seems to be missing right now."

"What do you mean missing?"

Gillian catches the rise in pitch of his tone: fear. She turns her head to him on the couch, sees the scabs along his cheek and temple, noticing for the first time there is a large bruise over his eyebrow, like someone has tried to punch him in the eye and missed slightly. She has been through hell, but maybe he has too; and she wonders just exactly what it is that he has been through.

"Marshal's called into her dorm, but were unable to locate her. We're doing our best."

Cal grumps something and Gillian reaches for his unscathed left hand, slipping her fingers beneath his; she can't think of anything reassuring to say. He looks at her and squeezes her hand tightly. She gets it, he is freaking out, but there isn't anything he can do from here. He has to let the marshals do their work; they're good at their jobs, she hopes. Gillian figures if he were able bodied, he would have flown out to California himself to find his daughter. Especially if she was potentially in danger.

"Can I call her?"

"Doctor Lightman it is best if you let us handle it for now."

"Cal," Gillian whispers. She isn't trying to be dramatic or secretive; her voice just isn't strong at the moment. She hasn't really talked much in the last few days and there's a nasty bitter taste in the back of her throat.

Cal looks over at her again. He sighs, doesn't look happy at all, but he does concede. And Gillian suspects it's just a matter of time before he takes action anyway. Marshal Wagner/Walker? takes his victory, gives them his card again, warns them to be careful and to stay put for now, then leaves with his colleagues. Gillian suddenly notices how quiet the house is, the neighbourhood. It feels a bit like being the last people alive on earth. At least, for a second. Cal turns to her almost immediately, before the front door even closes, his eyes intense. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Gillian manages to not sound strange this time.

"No really." He kind of looks her up and down quickly. "What are the doctors saying?" He slips his fingers from her hand quickly and brings his palm to her cheek, scooping back the hair that half attempts to hide the burns on her neck. He does it before Gillian can react, before she can hide (she doesn't know how he even knows they're there. He can see them?), and then she realises, she doesn't want to, doesn't feel the need. Not from Cal. He isn't tearing her apart, he's asking her to let him in a little. And they are in this together. Alone, it seems.

All they have is each other now.

"I'm going to be fine," Gillian repeats. "In a few weeks." All going to plan anyway. Hopefully.

Cal nods. "Good. All right." He seems to relax. "They wouldn't tell me anything at all. Wouldn't even tell me if you were here as well." He lets her hair go, brings his hand back to hers in her lap. He's sitting awkwardly on the couch cushion, his full leg cast stretched out to rest on the coffee table; it restricts the movement of his body so he can't turn fully towards her and he kind of vibrates with constrained energy.

"Here?" Gillian queries. Come to think of it, as she was driven here, she hadn't recognised the city.

"Kasson," Cal supplies softly.

"Where?"

"I think that's the point."

"Where's Kasson?"

"Bout twenty minutes from Rochester."

Gillian's head blurs. "In which state?"

"Minnesota."

"Minnesota?"

Cal nods.

"How long have you been here?"

"They flew me out of DC as soon as the plaster and ink dried."

Gillian looks down at his arm; the clean, white cast absolutely looks new. Of course it would be. She hasn't lost time. She woke up in the ambulance; she remembers the medical flight (and now she realises they did tell her where they were taking her: the Mayo clinic in Rochester). "How bad is it?"

Cal lifts his broken arm, gives it a little wave back and forth, like he needs to draw her attention to it. "Not so bad. Broken ulna."

A 'nightstick' fracture. The nick-name explained the most common way of breaking that particular arm bone.

"And your leg?" Gillian eyes the vast expanse of white. It goes right from his toes to nearly the top of his thigh, by the look of it. She notices that he seems to be wearing pyjama pants, with one leg almost entirely cut off around the plaster (the edge all ragged and uneven like he did it himself). He can't be at all comfortable.

"Tibia something. It'll be fine." Cal wiggles his fingers at her. "Same for the arm."

"Did you have to have surgery?"

"Nope. They set it and patched me up and sent me out here."

To Minnesota.

"What happens next?"

Cal gives a shrug and his face clouds slightly. "Not much we can do is there?" It doesn't feel much like a question he is expecting an answer to. Nor one he really wants to even voice. He changes his face to give her an open earnest expression and she figures he's had about three days to think of all the ways he can't possibly do anything while his entire leg is encased in gypsum. Cal watches her for a moment. "Is there?"

Gillian deliberates for a moment but her thoughts are scattered and hard to hold on to and she is not prepared to answer. She is too tired and she's not given it any thought. She glances at the clock above the fire place. Ten thirty. In the morning. And it has already been a long day. "I don't know," she answers Cal, because now it really does seem like he's waiting for her answer.

"You look tired."

"I am."

"So what happens next, is a sleep."

"First, a shower," Gillian rolls her shoulders, feeling the muscles threatening to bunch uncomfortably and the first threatening twinge of a headache.

Cal lifts his right arm, drops his head to his armpit and sniffs. "Could probably do with one of those too."

Gillian smiles and pushes herself up from the deep couch (deep enough for two people to lie on next to each other).

He doesn't smell that bad, really.

**PJ**

Cal is already set up in the master room; he sheepishly tells her he didn't think to do otherwise (he means be gentlemanly and leave the bigger room for her), but she doesn't care. She doesn't need the prestige, just a mattress and a pillow for her head after she takes a quick shower. There are towels, easily enough, on a tall shelving unit behind the door. Cal points out the new toothbrush waiting for her under the sink; he's hobbling around behind her with one crutch under his good arm and a couple of bulky casts. The shower is stocked with shampoo, soap, body wash, bath bombs, a loofa (all new, some still in the plastic). Cal informs her that there are clothes in the closet in her room (so he's obviously been snooping around). Then he tells her he'll see her later and shuts the bathroom door of the master bedroom to give her some privacy.

Gillian starts to feel so tired, she might just fall asleep standing. She doesn't know why they bothered giving her a bag from the hospital. She didn't have anything of hers with her, still doesn't. Everything was left behind; it wasn't like she had the chance to pack. She wonders what kind of clothes are in the closet (and just how much snooping Cal did) and decides she's just going to nap naked if she has to. She might literally end up on the floor unconscious in a minute anyway.

The warm shower is nice and the steam opens up her lungs, making it the easiest to simply breathe she's felt in days. She washes her hair, sending the last of the acrid ashen smell down the drain, and, finally feeling refreshed and like she's human again (and a bit more energetic too), she goes from the bathroom to the hall and the few meters to the spare room in a towel only; no Cal in sight. He's right though, there _are_ clothes in the closet, and the drawers, and in the two small compartments at the top, there are socks, panties, bras (as well as an assortment of men's underwear). With their tags on. And nothing that fits her properly. She wonders whose house this is. Who's clothes they are. Who stocked the place? What kind of cover there is for the neighbours, who surely must find it strange having different people showing up and leaving again?

She dries off carefully and too slowly; the overwhelming fatigue starts to set in again and she thinks more about sleeping than giving in to how weird it is that someone went to buy underwear, possibly for her... At least the tags are still on. And if the panties aren't meant for her, she'll go buy more to replace them. She pulls the tag from a pair of safe black cotton and slips them on. They're loose. She thinks she might have lost weight in her three day hospital stay. The next drawer down lends a grey t-shirt, way too big for her (it's probably for a guy), but she uses her teeth on the plastic tag and tugs it over her head. It smells like a store. But she still doesn't care. She gets into bed. Pulls the blanket over her head to block out the light. And closes her eyes.

She wakes suddenly to a tapping and she's panicking for a second, her heart sharply spikes against her lungs, not sure where she is or what's going on; it takes a few seconds to catch her breath. There's daylight but she's sleepy and she's disorientated. Her name is whispered from across the room. She pushes back the blanket, has to take several swipes to get the hair out of her face, pushes herself up to see and squints over at the door. Cal. "What?" she mutters, still more panicky than annoyed. She was dead asleep. Completely out of it.

He's hovering but when she speaks he lets the door swing open a bit more and he does a funny hop/shuffle/skip to the bed, pressing down on his broken leg (no crutch this time) and wincing as he goes.

"I don't think you're meant to be trying to walk on your leg," Gillian notes.

"Yeah," Cal says. He reaches the bed and leans his hands down on the mattress. He oddly looks like a five year old eagerly trying to please an adult. "Are you awake?"

"I am now."

"It's been hours," he tells her and she has no idea of the time now or what it was before when she actually got into bed, has no idea if he's serious about her being asleep for hours, or if he just got bored on his own. It barely feels as though she even closed her eyes and she could already do with more. If she looks though, she can see the shadows are in different places around the walls. "Thought we should talk."

Gillian watches him for a moment, not sure what to say. He woke her up to talk? "About what?"

He shifts, straightens up, swings his broken leg around, looks as though he's going to lose his balance and fall to the floor, but angles his backside and bounces onto the mattress so he's sitting beside her. Gillian gives up on leaning on her elbow; it's losing the feeling anyway. She snuggles into the pillow again, closes her eyes, waits.

"Thought we should get our stories straight," Cal murmurs.

Gillian opens her eyes again, has to tilt her head back to see his eyes. "What do you mean? You want to get the lie the same?"

"Yes," he responds slowly, cautiously, watching her. "Our lives."

It sounded like he said 'our lies' and Gillian has to think about it for a second. But she's pretty sure he said 'lives' which means he must have misheard her. She goes with it.

"How do you want to play it?"

Gillian closes her eyes again, thinking. How _does_ she want to play it? The truth is: she doesn't know. Actually, she isn't entirely sure she knows what he's talking about; he's asking her about what happened right? "I need to think about it Cal." She pauses and he doesn't say anything so she opens her eyes again, looks up at him. He's watching but he's not judging or pressuring. "I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning?"

"I'm not sure I remember what happened." There's a flicker of something on his face and Gillian suddenly knows: he remembers all of it. Every detail. She was knocked unconscious by the explosion pretty much as soon as it went off. But it seems that Cal remembers other details about what happened afterward. The curiosity inside her is sharp; she wants him to tell her. Because even though she gave a statement to the federal authorities, she's not sure what she said even then. She was not well and medicated and she had just been through a major trauma. With time to think, she remembers big holes in her story, like trying to recall a dream and realising that logically, it didn't entirely make sense. But she's going to have to do better than that when this whole thing eventually breaks down and they go to court. Hopefully this will all break down.

"How long do you think we'll be here?" Gillian murmurs.

She can hear Cal sigh, even if he maybe tried to be subtle about it. "Dunno," he admits. "Hopefully not the rest of our lives," his tone is distasteful.

Gillian's not sure what to make of that. She doesn't know if it will be safe to simply return to their old lives once this is all over. There could be retaliation. A public shootout wasn't the only way to get back at someone.

"Have you already given your statement?" Gillian asks, wanting to keep conversation going. What she wants is to be able to ask Cal what he thinks about it all, but she also feels she needs a chance to build up to that; mostly for her sake. It seems too scary, too surreal.

"Had a chat with them the other day."

Gillian thinks this is good (at least they're both at the same point in the process) and looks up at him again. For a short moment, she sees him staring despondently across the room. He meets her eyes for a second but she closes hers, tries to shut him out again. She wants to lie in bed and feel sorry for herself; she doesn't _really_ want to think about any of it. Her lungs are damaged and her skin is burned, and worse: the chemicals have done something to fog her brain (that she really, really hopes will wear off). But Cal was broken in that explosion as well and he's been here for three days by himself with no information, possibly thinking the worst. And, there was a chance they would have been split up; she thinks maybe they should have been, technically. But they're not. They're together. And that is at least something. So as much as she wants to be completely selfish about it, and tell him to leave her alone so she can think and go back to sleep, she doesn't. Because that's not who she is.

She forces herself to sit up and takes his left hand in hers. His fingers are a little cold and although he seems uncomfortable all of a sudden, he doesn't pull away from her. They sit for a moment, her under the covers in a grey t-shirt and underwear that's a little too big (she can feel it slipping down with that move), and him on top of the blankets, tense and still (Gillian can feel it in the way he holds his arm), both thinking and neither talking. Gillian wonders what goes through his mind; he doesn't seem his normal calculating self, which is not surprising if he's come to her to fish for information, but it does put her on the back foot; usually, he takes charge (if she were someone else, he would probably try fishing a little harder).

"They did say we could pick our own names," Gillian notes softly.

Cal hums next to her and his fingers tighten.

**PJ**

Despite wanting to be, Gillian isn't very good company. They ordered pizza and she had a slice, picked at another, but found she wasn't very hungry. Cal had cash (Gillian realised she had none at all) and she didn't feel like cooking; took one look at what was in the fridge and decided she couldn't bothered trying to make any sense of it all. Cal barely managed to follow her around the house on his broken leg and awkward use of a crutch (which she found equally cute and annoying. It seemed he had missed her, but he really should be resting the limb as much as possible) while she gave the kitchen a quick inspection, and settled on the couch. She knew he wasn't meant to be walking on the cast, seeing as it was still new, but the obvious pain he felt and the warnings she tried to give were unsurprisingly ignored.

They talked a bit, but about nothing concrete, each trying to figure out what the other was thinking without giving too much away. And it was exhausting, trying to play that game, all that mental acuity. Gillian fell asleep on the couch. When she wakes again, Cal is watching TV, his broken leg stretched out to rest on the coffee table again. He has put a blanket over her and for a moment she watches him, a hand curling the wool up against her chin. He looks the same, but he's different. She's so used to him in movement; strutting around the office, getting in someone's face. To see him sit still, to observe him when he doesn't know she's watching, is different, almost strange. And he looks worried.

"Is the TV too loud?" Cal asks, not looking over, startling her a little.

"No," Gillian croaks out, her chest feeling heavy and panicky. She has gotten too cold and she can feel it in her lungs. She shifts, stretching out a leg, finding too much of Cal too close. He grabs at her ankle, pulling it towards him so the length of her leg unfolds. He rests her foot against his sternum and readjusts the blanket, moving absently at first, then tearing his gaze from the television. He does it so naturally, so easily, the manhandling; Gillian doesn't have the presence of mind to be weirded out by the fact that she has a leg just about resting in his lap and her foot at his chest. The toes of her other foot are under his thigh and his fingers find bare skin as he moves the blanket (she put pyjama pants on after she got out of bed). He fusses for longer than necessary, until Gillian clicks that he is trying to cover himself up as well. She shifts some more, finds excess blanket, shoves it towards him; sits and spreads it out to cover the both of them equally.

"There's more pizza," Cal gestures to the box on the table with his casted hand.

"I'm ok," Gillian declines politely. The thought of cold cheese turns her stomach. She closes her eyes again, tries to work on calming her breathing, staying in control.

"You sure you're all right?'

"Yes," Gillian repeats, opening her eyes to look at him again.

His face is concerned. "You breathing is terrible when you're asleep. I was thinking about waking you."

Gillian watches him a moment longer, her heart beating in a funny way. She doesn't know what to say; doesn't know how bad it was, doesn't think she can tell him it will be fine. She closes her eyes first and listens to the words on the television, is surprised at the dialogue. When she opens her eyes to confirm her suspicions, she's right: Cal is watching an old rerun of 'I Dream of Genie'. It makes her smile, despite the heaviness still lingering in the air, and she has to hide it against the blanket again.

"Those were the days," Cal speaks. "When a woman did what her husband told her."

Gillian gives a huff of disapproval and digs her big toe into his sternum.

"Ouch!" Cal protests loudly, grabbing at her ankle with his left hand, while rubbing at the sore spot with the fingers poking out the top of his cast. "I'll send you to bed with no supper."

"Please," Gillian says with disdain and twists her foot free. She sits, shifting it out of his easy reach. "You couldn't chase a cat from the room right now." Cal gives her a cold stare but she ignores him. "Speaking of supper," Gillian throws back the blanket. "Want tea?"

"Yep," Cal agrees. He doesn't get up to follow her this time.


	3. Chapter 3

Gillian wakes in the night and again, she is disorientated. This is not her bed and she is not at home. Then: this isn't the hospital either. And _then_, oh yeah. She shivers hard and tries to reposition to get comfortable, curling up on herself, hunching, constricting her muscles, but she is too far gone; not enough of a glow to the embers to get the fire going again. She's freezing. She pushes back the blankets, feels the chill of the air deep in her lungs (and the ache that goes with it), and decides against getting out of bed. And yet if she doesn't get up for more clothes, she isn't going to warm up anyway. Conundrum. May as well. If she goes quickly...

She throws back the covers and gooseflesh doubles over her arms and legs. She swings off the mattress and tiptoes across the bare, icicle floorboards to the dresser and pulls the top drawer to find socks. They are still in the packet and she is dismayed she didn't think to unpack a little bit more that evening when she wasn't half asleep and already freezing to death. She doesn't know what time it is now, but it is beyond cold. She fumbles with the pack of socks in the dark for half a minute, shivering, gooseflesh marring over her skin second after second, the crackle of the encasing loud, but she as she's finally giving up and thinking to put the light on, she tears back the plastic easily all of a sudden. She pulls thick cotton over icy toes.

In the closet, still feeling around in the dark, she finds a sweater, but they also have tags on them still and her teeth are too weak for the plastic, even though she tries a few different angles; she worries she is going to cut her gums. She needs scissors, and she needs them fast, because she is seriously going to turn into a snowwoman. She grabs the pyjama pants she shed before getting into bed (thinking she was going to be too warm) and just about hops the few steps to the bathroom in socked feet and bare legs, putting the light on in there to see where she's going and what she's doing. She goes to the sink and opens the top drawer beneath. There are products in there, soaps and shaving foam, razors, toiletries (most of them still in the packet). She tries the next drawer. Cotton buds and Q-tips, tissues, condoms, a box of tampons. The third drawer contains more bath bombs, tiny bottles of various products; Gillian doesn't even bother to rummage. In the cupboards she finds tissues, cloths, toilet paper, a first aid kit, and there was, thankfully, scissors in it. She cuts the tag and starts to pull on the sweater.

"Gill?"

She freezes. Well, she is already frozen, but she stops moving, and turns to the master bedroom door; the bathroom isn't an en suite, but there is direct access from the main bedroom. The door is currently wide open. And she has the light on. She has woken up Cal. She starts to go to the door, and stops herself again. She has no pants on right now. "Sorry," she calls instead, trying to be soft but also wanting him to hear her. She tugs the sweater down sharply and starts on the pyjama bottoms.

"You all right?"

She hears something that sounds like him getting out of bed and rushes her legs into the trousers. She goes for the door to stop him. "I'm fine." Looking into his room she can see the light spills right across the bed, over the pillows. He's sitting up, the blanket across his lap, his left leg resting on the carpet; she was right, half in the process of getting out of bed. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"I was awake."

"Oh." She pauses. He waits. "I got cold, that's all," Gillian tempts to stand back, to return to her bed.

"What did you need in the bathroom?"

"Scissors," Gillian responds with another shiver. She folds her arms around her body, trying to get warm; she can't feel her toes and the sweater doesn't seem to be helping. She thinks about that second pair of socks when she gets back to her room; the blankets might help too (and failing that, a hot shower). "Why weren't you asleep?"

"Can't."

"Did you try?"

Cal gives a snuffle of a laugh. "Yeah I tried for several hours. It's two in the morning."

Gillian's eyes travel over to the digital clock beside his bed. He's right about the time. "Are _you_ ok?" She asks him as she goes over to the bed.

"Yes. Well, as much as can be expected. Bloody uncomfortable this," Cal gestures to the bulky lump of his broken leg beneath the covers.

Silence.

Gillian doesn't have any answers for that. She wonders if he has pain medication, whether it's even pain that keeps him awake, or just that the cast is huge and difficult to manoeuvre.

Gillian looks at the time again. Her eyes hurt. She needs to sleep; lots more sleep. That is the best way for her body to heal. Tomorrow she is... going to do something more productive; anything would be more proactive than all the sleeping she has done. She had been restricted to a hospital bed in an isolated hospital room for three days and now she at the very least needs to figure out what the hell is going on. She fidgets with the bed spread, smoothing it, like she is going to tuck him in. "Well, goodnight," she starts to turn away yet again.

"I'm warm."

Gillian does a double take. In the gloom, she can see Cal watching her. His expression is mostly impassive, but there is something else in it... like a challenge. "You're cold," Cal supplies, leaning back on an elbow, gesturing with his broken arm to the other side of the mattress. "Jump in. Get warmed up."

Oh, she thought he meant he was warm like a fever but what he meant was: he had body warmth (that he's willing to share). That _did_ sound appealing. Especially because her own sheets would now be cool (if they were even remotely warm before she got out of bed). Cold ripples jaggedly up Gillian's back and her decision is made. She reaches down for the mattress, absently intending to tell him to scoot over.

"You have to go round though."

Gillian straightens up. "I'll get the light," she suggests instead, half embarrassed, forgetting all about his leg, thinking that she was going to cuddle up against him.

Like she normally did with the men she shared a bed with.

She scolds herself against those thoughts.

**PJ**

She sleeps shallowly, and it isn't surprising, because despite being warm, Cal doesn't rest very peacefully. He shifts a lot; he doesn't turn over, just shifts his weight uneasily back and forth like the rocking of the ocean. Or an earthquake. Gillian is pretty sure she kicked him in the leg at one point and heard him wince. After that she moved over. She was still warm enough; her body temperature regulation kicking in again. It had felt nice to cuddle up to someone (not really cuddling. Aside from kicking him, they didn't touch. But she kept close until she was warm again). When she wakes in the morning proper, she actually feels rested, refreshed, ready. The room is gloomy and Gillian suspects it could be snowing. It doesn't feel as cold as it had in the night.

Cal has his eyes closed but Gillian doesn't think he is asleep; she isn't sure he has slept much at all really. Every time she woke to turn over it seemed he was awake. Poor guy. When Gillian sits up, pushing back the covers, a little sweaty with a thick hoodie on (turns out, it's light blue), Cal's eyes come open and he looks over at her. He is still on his back, exactly like he had been when she put the light out.

"Morning," she tries, her voice scratchy and her lungs feeling tight. She gasps a little for air.

"Morning," Cal repeats easily.

Gillian goes around the bed, finger combing her hair, trying to avoid the thought that he is seeing her first thing in the morning before she is properly coherent. If she doesn't look at him, then he can't see her. She shuts the bathroom door and uses the toilet, then washes her hands and picks the sleep from her eyes. She studies herself in the mirror for a moment, realising she hasn't actually looked in a long time (maybe she was avoiding herself a bit too). She's about the same, familiar blue eyes, freckles, the lines at her eyes. She seems washed out of colour though, darker marks out under her eyes and if she tilts her head, she can see the red bloom of the chemical burns against the side of her throat, sweeping up behind her ear. The worst patch is right on the top of her shoulder. She pulls back the sweatshirt to see properly, but there isn't a lot of give, and she can only see the brown edge of the scab that has formed (she realises when she showered yesterday, that she did it absently, or in a fog, and that if she doesn't be careful, then she could end up doing some damage). At least it doesn't hurt anymore. She has something she's meant to put on it to help it heal but she's neglected to do that too.

There is a gentle knock at the door. "Just a minute," Gillian calls in response, going to answer it.

"Oh sorry. Wasn't sure you were still in here. Thought you might have gone out the other door."

Gillian opens the entrance on Cal. He's in a grey shirt and his cut off pyjama pants (they are blue and green tartan). His hair is sticking up in the back and he looks worn, for just a second. He hops awkwardly on his left foot as he turns his body back around to face the doorway, the cast resting on the ground when he stops still. He winces when he puts too much pressure on it (any pressure. Even resting it on the ground is too much pressure just yet) and Gillian thinks about protesting again that he really shouldn't be walking on it, resting on it, putting any weight on it whatsoever; it could interfere with healing. But what is the point?

"I'm done," Gillian tells him, stepping back to let him in. She has half a thought to help him, but she won't really be able to support his weight. And he does so like to remind her that she mothers too much, especially when he's frustrated. So she goes back to her room and stares at it from the door frame. A bed and breakfast. That is what the room looks like. Floral bedspread, simple furniture, art depicting landscape scenery on the walls, bright neutral tones. Gillian wonders if this _is_ someone's holiday home. Or a time share. It's weird to think this house exists just to hide people in for a few days at a time. What do the neighbours wonder?

Deciding to get dressed, and actually explore the closet a little, Gillian is dismayed at the choice of clothing; nothing fits her properly, it's all either far too big or slightly too big. And nothing is much of her usual choice. She does find some jeans that actually aren't too bad on her, then throws on another generic tee beneath a bland jersey. All the underwear looks like it's from Walmart. None of it is a good match to her body; she can feel it slipping down her hips as she walks around the bedroom (they're too big and the elastic too weak). Nothing else in the drawer appeals in the slightest and, besides, she makes up her mind to just go shopping. Not only would a little retail therapy make her feel better, but having things around her that she has actually picked out would ground her as well. Or help her feel less lost. Or something. She has been here just under twenty-four hours, and the house, the situation, the isolation, is already starting to get under her skin. There's nothing like exploring a new town, she tells herself, reasoning that an excursion will also cut down on staring at four walls. She isn't even sure where they are. Somewhere in Minnesota. What would be the harm in going out?

Cal is in the kitchen when she makes her way in, still in his pyjamas and grey t-shirt. Gillian can't be sure, but he might have been wearing those exact same clothes when she arrived yesterday. She has five grey t-shirts in the drawers in her room (five that are black. Five that are white); Cal might have a similar supply; same for the pyjama pants. "Coffee?" Cal speaks from the window where he is rinsing out mugs at the sink.

"Yeah please," Gillian agrees. She goes to the fridge for milk and notices again that it is practically bare. The essentials are there: butter, cheese, tomato ketchup, jam, milk (about a third left), other assorted condiments, and a lone carrot and apple hanging out in the vegetable drawer. She wonders if the cupboards are just as empty; she hadn't really been looking yesterday (or perhaps just couldn't remember properly). She figures she could go food shopping while she's out. She doesn't think Cal would go with her. Or that he _could_ go with her, really.

"When you're finished?" Cal prompts her from across the small space.

Gillian gives him the milk and goes to the cupboards. Yep, pretty lean. A few instant pastas that only require milk and heat, assorted tins: tuna, soup, spaghetti and peaches. A few packets of herbs. Pepper. No salt. Three different kinds of cereal; two of them opened. She wonders what Cal has been eating here alone. When she turns around, he is sipping his hot beverage, watching her over the rim; his cup has blue cats on it.

"They were stocked when I got here," Cal notes with in incline of his head; he means the cupboards.

Gillian crosses to the bench, where her cup, the matching pink felines, is waiting. Cal hasn't poured her coffee and she is grateful, because she is supposed to lay off it. The caffeine would increase her heart rate, put pressure on her lungs, and she is meant to be taking it easy as much as possible to let them heal (like Cal and his leg). She pours a little coffee, adds a lot of milk, and drinks it tasting weak and bland (she can't find sugar). Cal watches her but is silent and it is strange. The walls feel like they are closer than they actually are. Gillian looks out the large kitchen windows to avoid the gaze of her partner (and the weird panicky feeling). She doesn't know what he isn't saying, but it is starting to get on her nerves.

She suddenly feels really warm.

Gillian moves on to the dining room table and sits.

"How'd you sleep last night?" Cal starts.

"Good. Once I was warm. Thanks for sharing your body heat with me."

Cal gives her a slight smile, "It was nice to have company."

"How'd you sleep?" Gillian sips her drink, decides that is the last of it she can handle; the ceramic isn't even warm enough to impact on her fingers.

"I got a few snippets."

"You seemed pretty uncomfortable."

Cal gave a 'yeah, well' shrug.

"Is there something you can take?"

"Over the counter stuff."

"Maybe you should," Gillian suggests.

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry I kicked you," Gillian winces, remembering.

"At least I knew you were alive over there."

Gillian gives him a frown.

"Your breathing was awful."

"It was?" Gillian is surprised.

Cal gives a nod, limps to lean his elbows down on the bench, so he is bent over it. "All wheezy. I thought about waking you up. Making you sleep on a pile of pillows."

Maybe that was why she had woken up in the first place. Or, no, she was cold, that was why she had woken up. And that was probably what made her breathing sound so weird.

"I'm going to go out later. So if you could give me..."

Money. that was how it worked, wasn't it? They were given money. Or a credit card?

"The card?" Cal queries like he's confused.

Gillian's confused. What else would she be talking about? A shopping list? "Yes," she confirms.

"Oh, all right, yeah. Going out where?" He gives her a strange expression.

"Food for starters. But also clothes."

"They didn't stock your room up?"

"Yeah but nothing fits properly," she gives a distasteful expression.

"Nothing in your style?" Cal grins wryly.

Gillian finds herself giving a smile back, even though it feels like he is giving her a bit like more than a friendly ribbing. "Not exactly."

"Uh huh," Cal gives a knowing nod. He pushes himself off the bench and starts his unique little hanging off the furniture/shuffle/limp to the living room. Gillian sees one of his crutches leaning against the end of the dining table (no sign of the other one). Cal comes back, propelling himself off the edge of the doorframe, then balancing his weight on the back of a chair. "Temporary credit card," he slides the plastic down the table to where she is sitting. He also pushes a set of keys at her (house and there is a car in the garage for their use, in an emergency, the marshal's really would prefer it if they stay put. Gillian gives Cal a frown for that one. It's the way he stresses it), a cell phone and a business card (with the marshal's number on it and another cell phone number).

"That's my number," Cal informs her. Burner numbers. Only really good for an emergency (he stresses that point too). Gillian takes the card and looks at the name. Walker. She had been close.

"When you get back," he starts and pauses.

Gillian picks up the credit card (pay wave, so no pins or signatures required) and looks up at him. He seems so uneasy, and she doesn't get it at all. He doesn't ever have a problem bringing something up with her. Why now? Why now, of all the times in their lives, should he decide to hold back?

"Yeah what?" She prompts, keeping her voice obviously light, but feeling irritable.

"We should talk about what we do next."

"Isn't that predetermined?"

"But," Cal presses. "I want to know what you and I are going to do next."

Gillian pauses before speaking again, "I don't get it."

"If we're going to stick together," Cal supplies.

Gillian still doesn't get it. She gets the impression he's trying to subtly suggest something to her but she's either being too dense, or he's being too subtle. She suspects he wants to have the conversation right then and there but she needs time to think about this whole thing (and maybe figure out what he _really_ means). She hasn't had three days like he has to work it all out neatly, thinking of all the scenarios. She agrees to talk about it when she gets back. Then she leaves the room to find appropriate shoes. She might have hurried out of there a little bit.

What does he mean _if_ they were going to stick together? Of course they would stick together. Unless he didn't want to stick together? Gillian hasn't considered that. Not that she has considered much of anything. She had only been focussing on getting out of the hospital. She hasn't put much thought into 'what next' and 'how does Cal feel about all of this?' Or even 'what is Cal doing right now?'

Cal is on the couch when Gillian goes to leave. From the doorway of the living room she asks if he wants anything. He says no, but keeps his attention on the TV. Gillian finds her coat from yesterday, and tugs it on roughly. She also doesn't get why he is all of a sudden acting like he is mad at her. Like this is all her fault? Far from it. Maybe it is a really good idea to get outside and get some fresh air; get some space. Twenty four hours together and they are already under each other's skin (how are they even going to cope with longer?) Gillian almost suggests Cal call her if he thinks of something he does want, but thinks better of it. A little space, a little shopping, a little exploring: that sounds good right now.

As soon as she opens the door the wall of cold air strikes her hard. Her face tingles and she gasps the chill into her lungs; they start to ache straight away. But she takes slow breaths, tries to keep them shallow, without hyperventilating, so the cold doesn't seep all the way through her and cause pain; she has never been so conscious of the way she breathes before.

There's a little snow along the path to the gate (but it's not snowing like she thought). She could probably drive, seeing as there is a car key on the set Cal gave her, but she's not sure of the way, not sure of the road conditions; there could be ice. She's not entirely sure of her capability to drive. She did only just get out of the hospital yesterday. Even now, she's not entirely sure of her capability to walk. She's a few meters from the house and it feels like she can't get enough air. Not only that, but she didn't ask in which direction there were shops, or how far away they were, and she despises him for a moment, for seeming to have all the answers. He had the phone numbers, the credit card, the car keys; he knew which town they were in, which state; all the information. What did he want to talk to her about when he already seems to have it all worked out anyway?

Gillian goes west, and two houses down there is a T-intersection. And on the street sign is a little tag that additionally informs her of a shopping complex. Didn't need Cal after all. _And_, her lungs seemed to have adjusted to the cold and the mild exercise, because they are doing just fine. After she gets walking a bit more, she warms up and her lungs seem to ease further. She makes it to the shopping complex, on foot, in fifteen minutes. Complex is an optimistic descriptive term. She had been thinking a mall, what she gets is a main street. But it will do.

As she walks down what feels like the main street of Kasson, Gillian does find a little mall. More like a group of shops under a collective roof. She starts there, wanders through a pharmacy, warms up a little more (heating helps); finds a place that will cut her hair for ten dollars without an appointment. She doesn't go into it much, just tells the woman with the scissors she had been in an accident; that was why her hair was singed on one side. The woman seems too embarrassed to make much more conversation. She does a good job of sorting out the damage and Gillian leaves feeling lighter, even with her hair just a few inches shorter (and at least even). She explores further, gets friendly smiles and a few hellos, then moves on to the Walmart-style 'we've got everything' store in the back of the complex. She half suspects this is where her current wardrobe came from. But she looks, hunts around, goes through all the racks, and finds another cuter pair of jeans, a few tops that aren't hideous, a cute jumper that actually fits and at least two bras that should tide her over until they get moved again (and fingers crossed, get a bigger city with some proper shopping complexes).

Kasson feels like a ski town; lots of weatherproof jackets and pants, ski boots, woollen hats and accessories. Gillian eyes up a coffee shop, knowing the smell and warmth instinctively, but declining; it wouldn't be half as nice if she couldn't drink coffee, and leisurely linger, and felt guilty for being away from Cal for too long.

She goes to get food next, enough for a few basic meals (she has no idea how long they are going to stay for). She also gets Cal teabags, because she can't remember if she had seen any in the cupboard. She also gets something sweet (which reminds her to get sugar). What stops her from going entirely crazy and buying out the store? She has to carry it all home again. It isn't far, but she isn't exactly at her peak right now. She could get a cab, but she only has the credit card. And while the shop assistants don't give her a second glance as she waves to pay, she doesn't know what the limit on the card is, and is half afraid she's going to be asked for ID. Of which she has absolutely none. Besides, she doesn't actually know the address of the house they're staying in, doesn't remember the street, didn't pay attention to the numbers. She can find her way back easily enough, but she can't explain it to someone else. It feels like the less interaction she has with the locals the better.

When Gillian steps out of the mall, she discovers Kasson really _is_ like a ski town: it's snowing. She's not equipped for snow at all. Doesn't have the right shoes, the right clothes, a proper waterproof jacket or even a hat and scarf. She thinks about going to buy some now, thinks better of the amount she's already spent (and what she's laden down with) and decides that the house isn't that far away and she can make it if she just puts her head down and goes for it.

She gets back to the house without getting lost, but her shoes are drenched and so are her jeans, almost the entire front side. The snow must have been coming down for a while, because there are drifts forming that she has to stomp through to cross the road. By the time she gets back to the house, there's a few feet on the ground, but no more falling from the sky. She says hi to Cal, who is still on the couch. He gives her a grunt, and doesn't get up to help, or even bother offering to. Gillian takes the food to the kitchen, leaving it on the bench for now, then goes to her room and kicks off her wet shoes. She shimmies out of the rest of her wet clothes, cuts the tags off one of the new bras she bought (one that actually fits her properly) and puts it on straight away. She puts on her other new clothes as well (because they're at least dry and are literally in her hands), then goes back to the kitchen to put the food away. Cal is still on the couch, and it's nice to not be stalked around the house by him, she thinks, especially because he doesn't seem to be in a good mood today. There is a knock at the door and it startles Gillian hard, makes her heart beat roughly.

"Gill?" Cal's voice comes from the other room. Gillian puts a bag of rice down on the shelf and heads for the front door. But once she gets there she stops. She looks over at Cal, in the living room, who is struggling to a sitting position.

"Is it?" Gillian starts and Cal shakes his head 'no'.

"They let themselves in."

So it's not the marshals. Which means Gillian doesn't know who it is. She peeks through the peephole and definitely does not recognise the man on the other side. He stands her height, light brown hair, a shovel in his hand. A broad, black, show shovel. She thinks he could be harmless. She knows a snow shovel makes a good weapon. Cal is hobbling towards her, limping off furniture and wincing on his leg, when Gillian decides to just go ahead and answer the door, sliding back the deadbolt.

The man smiles; all American, perfect teeth. "Hi. I'm Aaron. I live next door. I was out shovelling my walk this morning and noticed you haven't done yours," he turns toward the offending path (which is barely even a foot deep, if that). "I thought I'd come over to volunteer."

Gillian places his accent as Canadian, thinks he's odd, seeing as it _just_ finished snowing, feels a little paranoid, like he was watching from his windows or something, and half regrets her decision to open the door instead of pretending they weren't home. Cal reaches her and grabs at her shoulder to balance himself.

"I wasn't sure you had the right equipment," Aaron gives another smile, an easy laugh; all Canadian perfect teeth then.

"It's not exactly my forte," Gillian explains blandly, sells the lie poorly. Not really a lie. But there's more to it than just that. But she can't read anything sinister in this other man, and Cal doesn't immediately flip out and slam the door shut either, so she goes with neighbourly. She figures that's why Aaron is here. "I'm Gillian," she introduces herself and Aaron politely extends a hand to shake.

"Cal," he introduces himself, giving the fingers of his broken right hand a wave to indicate he's not going to shake. There's a good chance he wouldn't have done so even if his arm wasn't broken, just to be ill-mannered.

"Looks like something got the better of you," Aaron notes jovially.

"Skis," Cal grumps.

Aaron gives an 'ah gotcha' kind of expression.

"It would be really kind of you to shovel the snow," Gillian brings them back to the point, sensing Cal is going to say something to ruin the neighbourly mood; she's got a sixth sense about it now. "You don't think it will snow again?"

"Not today. Maybe tonight though, and I can always come back tomorrow," Aaron gives another winning smile and turns. "I'll get to it."

Gillian reluctantly shuts the door on him, feeling impolite and unsure.

"Why would someone volunteer to shovel the snow?" Cal asks Gillian loudly.

She wants to shush him; the door is not _that_ thick. "To be polite?" She suggests, shrugging off his hand carefully and going back to the kitchen. Cal limps after her until he can reach a dining room chair, then uses that to propel himself to the breakfast bar and a stool; he doesn't sit though.

"Bit weird though," Cal presses.

"I'm just glad someone's going to do it."

Cal gives her a distasteful expression. "Cos I'm not?"

"I didn't plan on it either," Gillian responds lightly, going back to the last of her groceries. Pretty sure she's not up for that kind of physical exertion.

"So you don't think there's anything suspicious about him?"

Gillian turns to him. "Do you think there is?"

Cal gives a noncommittal shrug. "Seemed alright," he mumbles, looking at the bench top. Which means he doesn't, because if he did, he wouldn't be asking for her opinion, he'd be on the phone with the marshals.

Gillian goes back to unpacking the food, thinking over Aaron's face; there didn't seem to be anything hidden in there, nothing sinister that she saw. But then again, she might not be at the top of her game right now. The thought disturbs her, sends an anxious stammer to her heart; she should be more careful.

"So you're going with Gillian then?"

She turns to him again, surprised, unsure; what is he talking about?

"Didn't want to pick something different?" Cal goes on.

Gillian gives him a frown.

"Names. Picking new names. Identities."

He sounds too aggressive and it makes Gillian want to equally leave the house again or deck him; and that response surprises her more. She settles for a little of both: passively aggressively ignoring him for a moment. She puts the hot water on to boil, starting to get mugs to make cocoa (or tea). "You're going to stick with Cal then?" She pushes back.

Cal's face clouds and he sits on the stool he was leaning on, moving so comically awkwardly that Gillian almost laughs and goes to help him. He's clumsy and off balance with all that plaster; she feels a little bad for him again. He's been trapped inside for days. Almost half the week. And he's not sleeping well; she witnessed that one first hand. She starts to realise he's probably been climbing out of his skin, stuck inside, stuck in plaster, stuck in this new reality. And really, aside from the marshals calling in to issue instruction, he hasn't had any contact with anyone, apart from her. Not even his daughter. Who he still doesn't know is safe or not. So he's being grumpy. So he's taking it out on her. She could be a better friend.

"Want a hot chocolate?" She asks him gently.

"No."

"Ok."

Quietly, Gillian goes about making one for Aaron and herself (she wonders about tea for Cal, then leaves it). She can see the other man through the windows of the dining room, easily making short work of the pathway (it hasn't frozen yet). She thinks about Cal going out to shovel the walk; can't imagine it. She wonders if it's something he would normally have done at home, or whether he made it Emily's job (probably). The wetness of the snow is his kryptonite right now.

She also thinks she should have been a bit more wary of a stranger, but that's not on her mind yet. She's still adjusting to being out of the hospital, feeling every tightening of her lungs and learning to not be afraid of it; she's already been through the worse and is getting better with every moment. Besides, she figures it's too new for the bad guy to have figured out where they are, though it would have been easy enough to find out _who_ they were (are?). She starts thinking about the Lightman Group, about Loker and Torres and their employees; is everyone there safe? Which brings her back to Emily, and Cal, who is sitting quietly and glumly at the kitchen counter, picking at something on his thumb. He looks older and worn and she wonders now how she is going to cheer him up, or at least, like she was thinking before, just being a better friend (she half suspects he's hanging around waiting for her to do that and it wouldn't be the first time he's relied on her to make it better for him. It wouldn't be the first time she has).

As she stirs the mugs of hot water, milk and chocolate (and sugar), she remembers the relief she felt in the way he hugged her when she first came through the door, the first time they had seen each other in three days, since the explosion (where they could have died. She could have. The flames had reached her skin). And she remembers too, that she was almost as relieved as he had been, because she wasn't alone anymore.

New plan for this afternoon: get rid of Aaron, take care of Cal.

Gillian picks up both mugs, moves around the kitchen bench and to the front door. There's a convenient little table for her to rest one of the cups on while she twists the door handle, then expertly hooks the door to swing closed behind her after she's passed through it. She didn't think to put a jacket on. And it's cold out there. Aaron has seriously made short work of the walk; he's at the boundary already. Gillian can walk down the path easily and Aaron turns to give her a smile as she approaches. "Wow thank you," Gillian speaks first.

Aaron straightens up, his breath puffing mist into the cool air. It hangs for a moment before blending into the atmosphere. "Thank _you_," he echoes taking a mug.

"Hot chocolate," Gillian supplies.

Aaron takes a sip, makes the appropriate noises of appreciation. "This is great. I don't get this kind of attention for shovelling our walk." He smiles again and it's flirtatious.

Gillian gives a tight smile, isn't sure how to play it, thinks about Cal, and lets her eyes wander over to the garage.

"Do you want me to do the drive?"

"Oh no," Gillian brings her attention back to the other man, her mug up against her chest to keep her warm; and act as a barrier. "We're not going anywhere."

"Must have been a hell of a ski accident."

Gillian honestly has to take a second to remember what he's talking about. "Yeah we came up for vacation," she lies.

"And now vacation ruined," Aaron finishes.

"I don't know. Provides quality time," Gillian responds without thinking but with a slight smile. She is totally implying Cal is her husband or partner. Well, he _is_ her partner, technically. Or maybe it's 'was' now. She doesn't know. She's starting to get why he wants to talk.

"Yeah that is really nice. It's probably the only good thing about being snowed in," Aaron backs off.

He's right. They have a perfect opportunity to spend time with each other, to talk about the explosion, to talk about what they know, where they stand, what is going to happen next etc and Gillian has been totally avoiding it. And she realises now that Cal is waiting to have the conversation he was probably ready to get to several days ago; is even waiting patiently for her (not entirely novel; sometimes he does respect her call for boundaries). She's being slow. She's going to put that down to the damage the chemical inhalation has done to her head.

Aaron finishes his drink and hands the mug back. He tells her he'll finish the last bit of shovelling. Gillian thanks him again, emphasises it was really very kind of him. He says he might see her around. Gillian smiles politely, doesn't commit either way; she honestly doesn't know if she will.

When Gillian gets back inside, she notices the warmth; it juxtaposes sharply with the iciness from outside. Even more so than when she had gone out earlier. Her lungs are tight and uncomfortable, protesting against everything she's done that morning. Enough to make her find her purse and suck down the beta-adrenergic agonists she has been given to treat her lungs. The medication isn't so far removed from that given to asthma suffers, even delivered in the same way: with an inhaler; designed to open her airways and make breathing easier. The effects of the chemical damage are meant to wear off. She hopes it will be sooner rather than later but she wasn't given a solid timeline for recovery (but she is grateful she's expected to make a full recovery. She thinks she might be lucky).

She tucks the inhaler into her jeans pocket and takes the dirty mugs to the sink in the kitchen. She finds a packet of assorted chocolates open on the counter, about three quarters' empty; there is a little mouse in the house. Through the dining room window Gillian can see Aaron starting to walk away so she goes down the hall to the larger bedroom. Cal is stretched out on the bed, a plastic container in his left hand; he is chewing. Rat found. But he doesn't seem to notice her in the doorway so she watches him for a moment, then says hello.

"Hey," he responds, turning his attention to the container again, digging with his casted right hand.

Gillian approaches. "Those were meant to be dessert."

"And now they're dinner," Cal counters lightly. He stretches the container out towards her and gives it a shake, enticing her. Like she needs it.

Gillian dips in and helps herself. Cal shifts his right leg over, then the left; he makes space for her on the mattress, so she sits. "What do you want for dessert then?"

"Should probably eat some vegetables or something. It's been a while."

"And you need lots of nutrients to grow big and strong."

"Did you have fun playing with the neighbour?"

Gillian is surprised by the question, the change in subject, and his tone. She takes a moment to think of her response. Then finds she doesn't have one. She can't be bothered appeasing him, teasing him, or taking him seriously. Instead, she helps herself to another chocolate and changes the subject herself. "Have you heard about Emily?"

Cal's eyes cut sharply to hers. "Nope."

"I'm sure she's fine."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't imagine anyone could have gotten to her before the marshals did."

"They said they couldn't find her."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It means they can't find her."

"It doesn't mean anything _bad_," Gillian finishes pointedly. "She could be holed up somewhere studying. Or with a guy."

Cal frowns harshly. "Now why would you say that?"

Gillian gives a slight laugh.

"It's not funny."

"It is," she smiles back.

"It's not," Cal grumps.

"Do you trust them to find her?"

Cal's expression goes wary and he doesn't verbally respond, but it's answer enough. Gillian's jovialness drops and the worry he's obviously feeling paws at her chest; she gets it now. She's not taking it seriously enough, and he's stressing out. And she would be too, if she were in his position, and she hadn't been able to talk to her daughter for nearly a week.

"Green Thai curry for dinner? With rice? And lots of baby spinach? Lots of extra calcium?"

"Sounds like you're cooking."

"I am. Cheating with a 'just add' packet but..."

"Then I'm in."

Gillian reaches for another chocolate. Cal lets the container balance on his stomach and scratches at his head. Gillian realises the bruise over his eye doesn't seem as bad as it had yesterday; more yellow now, less purple (maybe it looks different in a different light?)

"When was the last time you had a shower?"

Cal frowns. "You saying I need one?"

"No."

Maybe. (He did make a point of sniffing himself yesterday.)

"I was going to offer to help."

"You gonna get in and wash my back?" Cal gives her a lewd grin.

"Uh, no, my involvement stops at the bathroom door. I was going to suggest wrapping your casts in, like, a million plastic bags."

"Ugh," Cal groans. "I can't be bothered. Basin of hot water is enough."

"Ok."

"Though my hair is doing my head in."

"You want to wash your hair?"

"Not sure how to manage it," Cal raises his right hand, gives a now familiar wiggle of his fingers.

"I'm offering to help," Gillian reminds him patiently.

"Well," Cal grumbles. He makes a show of digging around for another chocolate. "Yeah that would be good," he mumbles.

Gillian feels like pressing the issue, making him ask her nicely, but like he said before: she 'couldn't be bothered'. "Ok let me know when," she casually suggests instead. That at least leaves the ball in his court. "I suppose you're not hungry now."

"Nope," Cal admits. "Tell me a story, what's it like out there in the big wide world?"

"Small town America," Gillian shrugs.

"Don't down play it for my sake."

"I didn't really see much of it. I bought some clothes and food and that was it."

Cal's eyes wander away as he considers what she has said. "You really think Emily's all right?"

"Yes."

Cal focuses on getting another chocolate. "It's been a week since we talked last. She could be trying to call me."

"And she will figure from your lack of response that something's up."

Cal looks up at her sharply. "You don't think she would... go home or something like that? Try and find me?"

"She would call me, or the office first. And Ria would have told her what happened."

"So she'll think I'm dead," Cal states.

Shit.

Gillian hasn't thought of that. They'd both be dead.

Cal curses softly under his breath and looks away. "If I call her..."

"Maybe you _should_ call her," Gillian starts to come around. She is actually impressed he has held off this long. Especially since it is his daughter they are talking about.

Cal looks over at her again. "What about..."

"The marshals?"

"For a start."

"They can't kick us out of the program."

"I'm glad you're confident about that," Cal shoots back, but something has clouded his eyes and Gillian belatedly recognises it as fear. She hardly ever sees fear on Cal's face and now that she does, she feels a quiver of fear in her own stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on," Gillian coaxes, taking the container of chocolates from Cal's reach (there aren't many left). "Let's wash your hair," she suggests, standing from the bed. She's not entirely sure of the things that make Cal feel better (he tends to deal with things in odd rituals she's not always privy to) but she knows that feeling clean helps refresh her, and it sometimes can be a good distraction. Cal's been trapped inside for half a week. She's starting to suspect he's not just in a funny mood, but is actually leaning towards glum. She's not surprised as to why, but there's not much she can do about it, except maybe a few small things she can do to help: wash his hair, work out something to do about Emily. Sometimes being a good friend is just about being there.

Cal looks over at her from his pillow. He looks slumped and tired and like he wants to protest but can't be bothered to. He just looks completely unimpressed. She holds out her hand to him and his face is completely neutral for a second, before he reaches out with his left hand to take it. He just about pulls her into his lap and chuckles a little gleefully as he overpowers her (yeah she gets it, just because he's crippled doesn't mean he's still not stronger than her). One of the crutches is leaning against the bedside table and Gillian takes it up, pointedly giving it to him, which he takes wordlessly and adjusts under his bad arm so he can sort of swing and hop across the room to the bathroom door (also using the furniture when he can reach it). Gillian puts the chocolates on top of the tall boy against the wall and pulls open the top drawer. "Oi," Cal protests at the door frame. "Those are my delicates."

Gillian feels her cheeks warm a little. "Pyjamas?" She queries.

"Next one down," Cal tells her. "Give me a minute," he requests and hangs on to the bathroom doorframe to help himself through it, then closes the portal behind him.

The letter sits on top of the dresser. It isn't in an envelope, just folded up on itself into thirds. But even as Gillian spots it, even with a glance, she can see it is from a hospital, and it's addressed to Cal (she figures the address given is this one, seeing as she doesn't recognise it). Curiosity spikes despite her refusal to act on it (it's _private_). Gillian pulls open the right drawer this time and finds another pair of tartan print pyjama pants (red and blue, for a change). There's a loud bang from the bathroom and she freezes, heart beating a little quicker, but Cal doesn't start yelling (she does hear a grumble). She goes to the door, hesitates outside it; wonders if she should knock.

The bang sounded like him dropping something and not someone trying to break in (or him falling down), but she needs to be sure. She calls out, asks if he's alright. He says he's fine and she feels silly and over protective and stepping over the line of friendship; she goes back to the pyjamas. She takes them to the kitchen to cut the right pant leg off (guessing the amount), then heads back down the hall to the bedroom, still waiting on Cal to call her in (she didn't hear any yelling from the kitchen).

The letter is still sitting there waiting. Gillian lifts the top fold and can see it is the information about his injuries. She shouldn't. It's way, way, way over the mark to read his mail. She walks to the windows, looks out; curiosity gets the better of her. She wants to know the details and Cal is so blasé about them he wouldn't tell her himself. She's still trying to piece together what happened last week. She can rationalise it all she likes, the truth is: she's being nosey. He moves so slowly, it isn't like she wouldn't be able to put the letter back how she'd found it. She goes back to the tall boy and picks up the paper.

Closed, incomplete fracture to the ulna of the right forearm. Closed, incomplete tibia...

"Gillian?!"

She jumps, hurriedly puts the letter back how it was originally, feeling completely busted, and quickly crosses the room. "Yeah?" She leans in against the bathroom door, listening, and taps on it lightly. Cal calls for her to come in. He's sitting on the edge of the bath, still hanging on to the one crutch with his broken arm, his left gripping the edge of the plastic he's sitting on. He looks at her from across the small space, a little defeated edge to his posture but also defiance in his eyes.

"Let's do it then," he grumps, like this is all her idea and a unique kind of torture, but she doesn't take him seriously.

"Ready?" She prompts coming in. She tosses the pyjamas at him and he plucks them from the air just before they hit his face. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything about them, putting them to the side for later.

"Where do you want me?"

Gillian has done this before with an invalid. Alec broke his leg once and she used to wash his hair over the bath because it was easier than trying to manoeuvre plastic and water to get him into the shower cubicle. But it had been easier then because their shower had a detachable nozzle. So making him lean over the bath while she washed his hair was not as much of a big deal as this was going to be. Once he got the hang of it, he did it himself; he only had a broken leg. A lot of things were easier with just a broken leg. Gillian doesn't know how Cal's going to sneak out to make clandestine phone calls (can't use their burner phones) if he can barely move around the house, let alone outside of it. She's not in much of a position for a fight herself right now, but Cal is definitely in no condition to run.

"On the floor," Gillian decides. She is still going to make him lean over the bath, but backwards, like at a hairdressers. She directs Cal to sit so he is resting against the edge of the plastic (which he does so with a few winces), while she gets more towels off the shelves; she absently thinks they should do some laundry at some point. She double folds one towel and lays it over Cal's broken arm, then uses another to cushion his neck, another to wrap around his throat so it cloaks over his chest; a spare one for her. She has to go back to the kitchen for a mug, to use to cup the water.

When she gets back to the bathroom, Cal has stolen her towel. "My ass was killing me," he explains to her slight frown. Gillian gets the last towel from the shelf (now they really do need to do laundry). She gives him the mug to hold while she leans over and turns the taps in the bath, adjusts the heat and retrieves the shampoo from the shower in the corner.

She starts with wetting his hair, curling her hand around his forehead and ears to try and protect them from flooding as much as possible. He can't exactly help her out with leaning right back, but he does try to angle his head as much as he can. She takes her time, guiding the water with her fingers in the places that are vulnerable to gravity, so she doesn't drench him completely. "Thanks for this," Cal speaks softly.

"You're welcome." It must have been at least a week since he had actually wet his head; it would have driven her insane (it has, at least, been four days. And that is long enough). "What did you do for three days here by yourself?" Gillian asks him.

"Counted the hours."

Gillian sets the cup in the bottom of the tub and squirts out a small amount of shampoo into her palm.

"Not easy to pace at the moment."

Gillian smiles and presses her hand against the crown of his head.

"Tried writing some stuff down, but a bit of a waste of time."

"How come?" Gillian starts making circles to lather the soap. His hair is thin and longer than it's been in a while. With it wet, it looks darker and she's not sure she's seen his face from this angle (or maybe even this close...); his eyes flicker over the wall opposite. It suddenly strikes her that this is really intimate.

"Couldn't read my own writing," Cal gives a slight chuckle.

Oh right yeah, because his writing hand is in a cast.

Gillian gets her other hand involved in soaping up his head, feels the strain of the muscles in her back as she leans over him to reach properly; awkward angle. She tries not to press against him, is too self conscious of how much of their bodies are in contact. Cal turns towards her a little, resting his cheek (it's rough with stubble, practically a beard; he obviously hasn't been shaving at all) against her forearm for a second. He looks up at her and she can feel his eyes. She meets them, gives him a slight upturn of her lip, but goes back to concentrating on what she is doing. "What were you writing?" She encourages. Keep talking; distraction.

"Trying to remember what I could of the investigation before..."

Gillian rinses her hands off under the running water and picks up the mug again; plunges onwards. "Do you remember much of it?"

"Some. Could do with a second opinion."

Gillian starts rinsing out the soap. "We could try again after dinner if you want." She says it far too casually but Cal doesn't call her the anxiety in her tone.

"So long as you take notes."

Gillian smiles, her eyes flickering down to his. He looks up and met hers again. Concentration lost, water dribbles into the corner of his eye. He squeezes it shut tightly, and winces. "Sorry," Gillian apologises, bringing up her spare towel to carefully wipe it away.

Cal blinks a few times, his left hand rubbing at his eye and blinking some more. "It's all right," he tells her, seemingly not worse for wear. "Carry on."

Gillian switches out the mug for more shampoo (it smells like peaches and vanilla even though the bottle says its pear and almond. Go figure) and works in silence for a while. She scrubs her fingernails against his scalp, around the back of his head and makes sure she gets his sideburns; covers every inch to get all the dirt. Cal's eyes close, so she keeps going for a minute longer. "That feels really good," he sighs.

Gillian suddenly feels warm. She rinses his hair out again, then concentrates on spreading conditioner evenly through his short strands.

"Wanna get lunch after this?" Cal asks.

"You offering to make something?" Gillian asks lightly, while implying that she highly doubts it.

Cal snickers.

"Sure. I'm nearly finished," Gillian goes on, while she massages his skull again.

"I wasn't suggesting you feed me," he says lightly. "But I am getting hungry."

"All that chocolate didn't do it for you?" Gillian rinses the conditioner off her hands and turns the tap off.

"Didn't seem to touch the sides."

Gillian sits back on her ankles, the aching easing out of her back and thighs.

"Is that it?" Cal looks over at her, straightening up a little.

"Not yet. I'll rinse the conditioner out in a minute."

"Will you bring me gossip magazines to tide me over?"

"I don't have any, but I could scrounge up a book for you?"

Cal gives a slight smile but it doesn't seem as if his heart is much into teasing her. They sit quietly for a split second before Gillian's talking again; she doesn't know if it's that she can't stand the silence, or whether this is on her mind and she wants to get it out; Cal is an attentive audience, and he's not going anywhere.

"The Group would have all our case notes."

Cal's eyes were looking around the room, but they focus back on her and he's silent a moment longer. "We can't get those."

Gillian supposes they can't, but she still queries him on it.

"Well, can't remotely log in. If someone's monitoring the system they'll pick up the log on immediately."

Gillian nods, agreeing; far too obvious. "Even if we used a public computer," she muses.

"But," Cal starts and pauses. It's probably for dramatic effect but Gillian is listening thoughtfully by now. This already feels much more natural for them; thinking, planning, conspiring. This is what they did for a living; it was, at least, familiar. "It'd take a lot more effort to investigate an email."

Gillian waits for him to flesh out the idea, because she's not quite sure she understands where he's going. Emails could be traced too. She might not have witnessed too much, but it's pretty obvious who the marshal's investigation is centring around based on the questions they asked. All about Jerome Willis. Head of the FBI. So she gets the need for secrecy (and security). They're not dealing with a mobster who probably doesn't have the know-how or technology to indulge in extensive internet searches. But the head of the FBI does. And he has access to a whole bunch of other resources too.

"Would have to create a new account. Using a public domain, on a public computer."

Gillian thinks some more but isn't sure she sees much of a problem with that. "How will they know it's from us?" She means Loker and Torres but Cal already knows this without her having to say.

"They should bloody well know how to read between the lines by now."

Fair point.

"Then we should think about what we want to say," Gillian muses.

"One shot at it?"

"I think that would be wiser?"

"Probably," Cal agrees.

They're silent for a moment, stealing glances, thinking. There would have to be more to work out, but so far, it seems like an ok plan.

"You cut your hair."

Gillian meets his eyes, a hand raising absently to her shorter strands. "Yes," she confirms.

Cal watches her a moment, a beat, before saying: "I like it short."

"Thanks," Gillian sits up again, turning on the taps. She starts to rinse Cal's hair out carefully and he closes his eyes while she works. "If we're going to contact the Group, then you should definitely call Emily."

Cal's eyes open to look at the ceiling, but not at her. "Could probably manage one call on the burner phone and then toss it."

"Mm," Gillian agrees. Or muses. She thinks about other options, possibly better options. If Cal made the call, she would have to get rid of the phone. And that wouldn't be easy in small town Kasson. It would be better to get to Rochester, the nearest biggest city. Or maybe just toss it out the window of the bus on the way. But if Cal made the call from the house it could be traced back to that location (if the software used was good enough) and she wasn't sure they could take that risk. Other people used this house as a safe haven. They wouldn't just be compromising themselves, they'd be compromising the whole witness protection program.

"You're thinking very thoroughly," Cal notes and Gillian realises she's been scraping her fingers over the same spot on his head. She goes back to her work, paying attention this time.

"Pay phone," Gillian blurts.

Cal looks back to her. "What?"

"It's harder to trace an anonymous call from a pay phone. Even if they trace it back to Kasson, they would have a harder time trying to find either of us specifically. No one here knows our names."

"Cept Aaron."

Gillian ignores that (still not sure what he means by it). "It would give us a couple of day's grace."

"But how are we going to know if someone suddenly arrives in town looking for us? Not like we've made a lot of acquaintances that would tip us off."

"Yeah," Gillian agrees, thinking she might be done with his hair and she's now just touching for the sake of it.

Cal studies her for a moment. "Would be even harder if the call was traced to Rochester."

Gillian looks over at him, smoothing her fingers against his forehead as she trickles another cupful of water. "Ok, so we go to Rochester."

He gives her a slightly incredulous expression. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Gillian stops playing with his hair. The sound of gushing water overwhelms the room.

Cal blinks. "All right."

"Ok," Gillian agrees, finding her heart beating awkwardly. She is suggesting they do something potentially dangerous or, at least, stupid. Not just for them, but for Emily too. "Should we wait for the marshals to find her?" She tries.

"They seem to be doing such a bang up job of it."

Gillian leans over the bath to turn the taps off again. She dries her hands on the towel she has kept for herself, then rubs it over Cal's wet hair. "If she hears some unknown men are looking for her, she might stay away from her dorm." Gillian sits back and looks at her partner.

Cal's expression is suspicious. "Look at you, speculating with no evidence."

Gillian throws the towel in her hands into his face, then whips the towel off his cast before he can react, so she can put it away. She gets to her feet so she's out of reach of retaliation. "I'm just... I'd like to know where she is too," she justifies. She refolds the towel and puts it up to dry.

"I wasn't complaining," Cal responds from the floor. He takes the towel from his neck and tosses it to Gillian. She unfolds that one as well, shakes it out, and hooks it at the top of the shelving unit so it is open and will dry. "Nice to have my partner back."

With her back still to him, Gillian ignores the jibe (or compliment?) and fusses with the towel for a second. The tone he used doesn't sound like a dig, but the words do cut her a little bit; she has been nothing if not on Cal's side, always. He might have had three days by himself to think, but she had three days merely trying to survive. Sorry if she wasn't completely on to it as soon as she got there.

She turns to find him struggling to get to his feet again. It's like watching a turtle trapped on its back. Cal can't bend his right leg at all, so he has turned over to his front and is trying to get leverage off the bath with one good leg and one good arm. He seems to lose the battle for a while, then hangs off the bath and the vanity and pulls himself awkwardly to his feet. As much as Gillian wants to laugh at how funny he looks, she doesn't have the heart. Poor guy. What a nightmare.

Cal straightens up, breathing heavily. Gillian goes to get the wet towel she had used on his hair from the floor. "I'll make lunch then," she says, hooking the towel around his neck (and suppressing an irresistible urge to kiss him). She goes back to the kitchen, and starts pulling condiments from the cupboards and fridge to make sandwiches (steadfastly ignoring the bit where she wanted to kiss him). Not exactly sandwich weather but she has just bought fresh bread and it will do (could have just been a kiss on the cheek or something else that could be construed as friendly). She's already buttering when she hears Cal coming down the hall (banishes the thoughts of kissing again). He's leaning on it as he walks (and uses one of his crutches!) so she hears him easily. He seems exhausted when he hauls himself onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar (kissing thoughts gone).

"Will you go this afternoon?"

"Go where?"  
>"To call Em."<p>

"Yes," Gillian agrees immediately. Her heart beats in that awkward way again, betraying her confidence. Yes, she probably shouldn't; she had agreed to not make contact with anyone from her old life. But this is Cal. This is Emily. She couldn't not. "Wait, you're going to come with me right?"

Cal seems to hang his head a little, but he does meet her eye. "I don't think I can."

"Sure you can."

"I really don't think I can Gill."

She wants to press it, she wants to point out that it is _his_ daughter, but given the fact that he is saying he can't go, well she takes that seriously; when it comes to Emily, it has to take quite a bit to stop him. "Are you ok?" She's concerned now.

"Yeah, I'm just... Not really cracking it right now."

Gillian doesn't press. She goes back to her bread, putting aside the slices once they're spread, trying to think of a way to make it easy for him. Most of the trip would be on the bus; she's not sure how far away Rochester is, but it could be at least half an hour in a car, probably longer with public transport. But then he'd have to get off the bus and manoeuvre the streets and it is awkward enough for him to get around the house. It's implied that he's going to be absolutely useless if, _if_, they needed to run; he's a liability. Gillian can feel her heart in her throat. So now it's up to her to get a message to Emily.

"Please Gill," Cal starts but she stops him. She gets it. She tells him she'll go. She puts bread on a plate for him, moves fillings closer to him so he can assemble himself.

"Do you think...?"

"Think what?"

"What do you think the marshal's told everyone?"

Emily. The Group. Her family. She's thinking about it now; what were her parents told? Were they given an official version, or just a lot of vague answers? They would have tried to contact her by now, surely. Gillian understood even more what it would be like for Emily. For Cal, worrying about his daughter.

Cal gives a shrug, chews shrewdly.

"I just... I don't like the idea of them thinking the worse," Gillian notes glumly, picking the crust off a slice of bread.

"Which is?"

"That we're dead?"

"You think that's what the marshals told them?"

"I don't know how it works," Gillian admits.

Cal 'hms' and they sit in silence while they eat (Gillian remains standing opposite him). She's suddenly not very hungry, so she picks her sandwich apart and eats the fillings separately (lettuce, tomato and pastrami). "What do you want me to tell her?" Gillian asks when Cal finishes. She takes his plate to the sink and busies herself with packing everything away. She doesn't ask if he wants something else and he doesn't protest when she assumes.

Cal clears his throat. "Dunno. I'm safe."

It sounds a bit like a question. Gillian glances over at him but he's not expecting an answer from her. It looks like he's thinking about it. She takes butter back to the fridge, twists the bread bag and ties it, leaves it on the bench.

Cal reaches over to the side of the bench, where the landline phone sits in its cradle and there's a phone book. There's also a notepad and a cup of pens. He pulls the pad closer, takes a pen, then jots something down on the small slip of paper. "Em's number," he supplies and slides it towards her. "And her dorm, if you can't get through."

Gillian takes the paper, tucks it into the pocket of her jeans, combs back the hair from her face, feeling tense. They are taking a risk. The risk would be worth it though. She can't imagine disappearing on her daughter, can't quite comprehend what Cal is feeling right now; or what Emily is feeling if she has, indeed, tried calling her father and got not answer. Or how bewildered the young woman feels if the marshal's have found her and pulled her from school, her whole life, to relocate her with them in Kasson. If family is also at risk, they go into hiding too.

"Anything in particular you want me to tell her?" Gillian gently asks again.

"Tell her I love her," Cal looks up and meets her eyes. She sees a swirl of feeling, not entirely unfamiliar; she's seen him emotional about his daughter before.

Gillian nods, finds there's a lump in her throat, and concentrates on the bench again. Cal uses the landline to call for bus information. There's a stop a block down and there will be a bus in half an hour. Gillian finds a worried tremble in her stomach. Her hand goes to her jeans, making sure the number is still there. Once she's finished with the kitchen she goes to change, which is just an excuse to mentally prepare herself. Besides this being risky, she's also nervous about talking to Emily. Not because she hasn't done it before or because it will be a little strange (well, it will), but because she knows the young woman is going to be upset or confused and possibly angry and there will be a huge emotional onslaught aimed right at Gillian. Even though this isn't her fault. And she just got out of hospital yesterday. She thinks again about how she can get Cal to the phone himself but it all seems too hard and they're in the dark about so much right now, she's afraid that even making this phone call could completely tip the balance and result in her or Cal's death. Because she knows that people have been killed to keep the secret she and Cal now know.

That's how they discovered it in the first place.

Gillian makes sure she has the credit card (just in case), small change for the bus and the phone call, her medication inhaler, a scarf, a warm jacket and a phone in her pockets before she decides she should go walk down to meet the bus. Cal is on the couch again, staring out of the window. She watches him from the doorway again, seeing more and more, that this whole situation has had a huge impact on him, probably bigger than she wanted to see yesterday. He's too quiet, too still, and yes, there are mitigating factors (his broken leg) but it's still not quite right. She's still not sure what to do about it. It feels like he's retreating into himself. And, she supposes, she's doing the same. She doesn't push like she used to and she's also quiet. Still.

"It's snowing."

"Really?" Gillian straightens up from the doorframe and comes further into the room.

"Yeah," Cal gestures to the window opposite (he is sitting on the couch with his broken leg stretched out across the cushions and the TV on his left).

Gillian goes to the window and looks out. Yes, the snow has started up again. It looks like they've had a few inches of it in the last few hours. The fir trees in the yard are patchy, their branches heavy under the weight of frozen rain. The stretch from the house to the tree line is pristine; at least they'd know if someone has been sneaking around out there... And it always comes back to four days ago now: that house and the explosion and what has brought them to here. They are supposed to be safe, in protection, new identities and a chance to survive to testify. But what if the bad guy finds them? She could be drawing him in even closer if she goes to make that phone call.

Not if.

She _will_ go.

Cal doesn't say it aloud, but it seems to be in the air: _you don't have to go now_. But Gillian turns back to face him and announces she's going to need a hat. She goes to the hall closet and finds dark blue wool that she pulls down to her ears. Wearing all that gear inside makes her feel warm, but she knows it will be cold outside. She goes back to the living room and plants a kiss on the side of Cal's temple. "See you later," she tells him, not sure what compelled her to kiss him goodbye, but not feeling weird about it (she's forgotten the bathroom kiss compulsion). She walks away without seeing Cal's expression, she doesn't need to, to know he is probably surprised. He murmurs a 'bye' as she reaches the threshold to the hallway and she unbolts the front door, crosses the threshold and pulls it closed behind her.

It _is_ cold, and it still rushes into her face with a shock, but it's not as bad as she thought it would be. She thinks it's funny and a waste of time for Aaron to have shovelled the walk for her, because she still has to pick her way through the new snow to get to the path. Their street hasn't been swept but Gillian can hear a diesel engine in the background somewhere and assumes it's just a matter of time. By the time she's two houses down her legs are drenched and she almost thinks better of attempting to go out. What if the buses have stopped? The snow isn't that thick. It would take more than this to halt them in DC. But this is Kasson. Who knew how they operated? (And Gillian realised she didn't want to find out. She wanted to move on to the next place, get settled in as much as possible, start her new life if she was supposed to be having one. She feels restless and uncertain and wonders if Cal feels the same way in that house. Being outside, with the freedom, makes her realise she feels trapped otherwise, and she doesn't like it).

Gillian reaches the T- intersection that would take her back into town. It's already been cleared and the still falling snow is doing nothing more than keeping the ground wet now. She takes a graceful leap to the clear tarmac and starts walking down the empty street. Her jeans are wet half way up her calf and her toes feel icy (but she _has_ found some waterproof shoes, so at least her feet aren't also sodden). Now that she's walked a bit she's warmed up and doesn't feel as bad as she did when she first stepped out. There's another woman waiting at the bus stop. They make small talk about the weather (whether the snow will worsen). Then the bus rolls up and they get on. There are three other people already sitting, so she picks a seat about half way down. As the bus pulls away from the curb Gillian loosens the scarf from her neck, her skin feeling sticky and damp. She almost reaches for her phone to text Cal, like she would have done normally, but decides against it. They have an unspoken but highly implied policy of not making contact. It's like they've gone completely low tech.

The ride to Rochester does take more than thirty minutes, more like thirty-five, but eventually they're pulling into the inner city and Gillian gets off. No snow here, but she finds out the hard way that the sidewalk is icy and the wind whips between the buildings harshly. She decides to take the block, walking in large circles until she's probably gone a couple of miles but almost ends up where she started. She doesn't think it's a smart idea to make the call from the bus terminal and she might be procrastinating a little. In her stroll she has managed to warm up again and find two internet cafes that might be ok for sending an email from. She's passed half a dozen pay phones, but still walks a block in the other direction and crosses the street before stepping into one.

It's not warm in the booth, but it's sheltered from the wind and Gillian loosens her scarf again. Her stomach is squirming and her hands sweaty. She carefully takes the slip of paper out of her jeans pocket. Her inhaler clatters loudly to the ground and she bends quickly to pick it up, feeling paranoid. She looks around but she can't see anyone watching her in particular. People walk on by, not giving her much attention. Gillian tucks the inhaler back into her left pocket and holds the number in her left hand. She fishes out change from her right jeans pocket and tucks the receiver between her ear and shoulder. She slots coins into the phone, then dials out the number, and listens to herself breathing as she waits for the call to connect.

She's so tempted to hang it up. A massive pang of nerves strikes her hard. And it doesn't help that the call rings for a really long time. She's just about preparing to hang it up, or hoping voicemail will pick it up so she can leave a message, when it's answered. Suspiciously. "Hello?"

Gillian's heart stutters. "Emily? It's me."

There's a pause.

"Gillian?"

"Yes," she cuts in quickly, her heart beating rapidly now. "Listen, I can't talk long. I shouldn't even be calling."

"What's going on?!"

"I can't say too much Em," Gillian interrupts again. "Your Dad wanted me to call you to say he's ok."

"Is he there?"

"No, sweetheart, he isn't but he wanted to tell me he loves you and..."

"But what's going on?" Emily asks once more.

"It's complicated," Gillian almost sighs. She doesn't want to say it over the phone; _we're in witness protection_. That makes it more real. And she feels as though someone is listening in on this conversation. They could have wire tapped Emily's phone... bugs or traces or something. "Where are you?"

"I'm... at a friend's," Emily responds cagily.

"But you're safe?"

"Yes," Emily answers, sounding cautious now.

This is too hard. There is too much unsaid and now both of them aren't trusting the phone line to be clear.

"You're safe?" Emily speaks next.

"Yes," Gillian confirms.

"What should I do?"

Gillian listens to dead air for a second while she thinks quickly. Damn, she wishes she had forced more of an answer out of Cal. What would he want for his daughter? For her to be safe, that had to be the number one priority. And so far, the marshals were keeping them safe (if this phone call hadn't completely ruined it. Which would be Gillian's/Cal's fault, not the marshals anyway.)

What should she do?

Damn it, she doesn't know.

"Gill?"

"I'm here," she speaks up. "Your Dad would want you to be safe." Which was crap advice seeing as Emily had no idea who to be wary of. "So trust the authorities," she finishes, and hopes that Emily will know what that means. At the end of the day, an official with a badge is going to be more trust worthy than any old person in a suit claiming to be someone they weren't. Gillian wants to tip her off about the email to the Lightman Group, that Emily could get more information that way, but if someone really is listening in on the conversation, then that would just point them in the same direction.

"Tell Dad I love him," Emily says. Gillian promises she will. She doesn't promise she'll be in touch. She can't. But she wants to. Emily doesn't ask how to get in touch, doesn't ask for a number or an address and Gillian can only surmise that the young woman gets it.

They're off the grid.

After Gillian hangs up, her lungs feel tight and she's struggling slightly for air. The phone booth feels claustrophobic, and her change clattering into the tray makes her cringe. She grabs at it blindly, reaching for her throat with her other hand, trying to loosen the scarf or her collar or both. She pushes on the door to exit and falls into cold air. Wind whips into her face so harshly it brings tears to her eyes. She has to turn her head to take a breath but manages to suck in air. She's disorientated for a second and spies a low wall that guards off a small garden in front of whatever building that is. She stumbles to it, pulling at her scarf to let fresh air in against her sweaty skin. She sits heavily, focuses on trying to breathe. That's all. Just needs to breathe.

After a few seconds it starts to feel easier. Gillian puts her hands on her knees, leans forward a little, the wind at her back, and concentrates on taking air in, and then pushing it out of her body again. She wants to text Cal, tell him she talked to Emily, tell him that his daughter is ok and that she's smart. But she's scared to, still feels like someone is watching her. She needs to get out of the city, back to the safe house, back to Cal so she can pass on the message. Was there a message? She inherently knows what Emily would want to say to him.

Gillian gets to her feet, pocketing what's in her hands (paper and coins) and pulls the woollen hat down over her ears again. She tucks her chin into the scarf, adjusts it so that it's keeping the wind out now (she can feel a tickle in her throat that makes her want to cough. But if she starts now, it won't be easy to stop. She knows that from experience). She starts heading back to the bus terminal. Or at least she thinks she is, but she walks a block and doesn't recognise the buildings and she stupidly didn't pay attention to street signs. She was sure it was in this direction, and she's only been walking a block at a time, making turns, so she didn't get lost. But now she thinks she is.

She turns at the corner and tries again but she still doesn't come across the terminal. She thinks it's been twenty minutes now and she needs to get back to the safe house. The things she would normally pay attention to are slipping her mind and she doesn't like it. It was stupid to not even take a tourist map to find her way back and it's the kind of mistake she wouldn't usually make. She doesn't like it, doesn't like the way the tickle in her throat is now more of an insistent urge; she doesn't like how paranoid she feels.

A man on the street bumps her shoulder as she goes past and it makes her heart hammer. A part of her brain tells her to not be silly, to not let the situation get the better of her, to calm down and rationally find her way; she can ask for directions. But a bigger, louder, part of her brain is telling her that she's sick, that she can't get enough air, that it's too cold; she's lost and alone and there are people who are out to kill her.

Gillian thinks she remembers crossing the street at some point and steps down off the sidewalk, only to feel her leg coming out from beneath her and her centre of gravity tilt. She lands hard on the road (ass and wrist breaking her fall) and the sheer surprise of it knocks the last of the oxygen out of her lungs. She can't get a breath in and she can't seem to get her hands under her body to push up again. She's aware she's on the street (more danger from traffic) and that she's lost, and then she feels strong hands on her arms.

"Are you ok lady?" A male voice asks her and she gasps air to try and get a hold of herself. She's deposited back on the sidewalk, sitting on her ass on the cold concrete and there are legs framing around her like sentinels. Or entrapment.

"She can't breathe," someone else says. Everyone backs up a foot and a woman is kneeling near her hip. "Can you breathe honey?"

Gillian keeps gasping nothing into her lungs, they hurt, and shakes her head 'no' (amazes herself with even admitting it). She fumbles at her pocket, manages to take out the inhaler, but her fingers feel weird and disconnected. Emily's number gets caught on the breeze and flies away over her head. Gillian doesn't even have a second thought about someone finding it (it's a string of numbers, who in their right mind could possibly connect it to them? Even if someone found it, and dialled it, the chances that it would be the people they were hiding from would be miniscule).

"Here, let me help you," the woman takes the inhaler from Gillian's palm. She holds it to Gillian's mouth and pushes down on the canister and Gillian belatedly takes a breath. She gets a mouthful of chemicals that taste bitter on her tongue. The woman tries to give her a second dose but Gillian shakes her head away. "I have asthma too," the woman tells her and Gillian gives a grateful kind of expression and tries to take a normal breath. It's easier and she manages to get some air in and some out again; it feels much better already. Let the woman think its an asthma attack. Gillian's not going to explain her lungs were damaged from inhaling toxic chemicals in a meth lab fire.

"She's fine," the woman announces to the crowd. "Just an asthma attack."

"You should take her to a hospital," someone else suggests.

Gillian shakes her head again. "Thank you," she wheezes. "I'll be fine. Thank you."

The little crowd starts to disperse. "Really, thank you," Gillian tells the woman when she has her attention again.

"Will you be ok?" The woman asks. She has dark brown eyes and the peek of brown hair from beneath her pink hat.

"I will be," Gillian nods vigorously. Her ass is frozen now; can't feel it, only knows by default. And her jeans are still wet from the snow in Kasson. Her lungs burn with the cold but she is actually breathing now (short sharp breaths, but oxygen nonetheless). She feels a little more embarrassed as she gets herself under control and starts to get up. The woman jumps in to help her, grasping at Gillian's elbow and tugging.

"Where were you heading?" The woman asks politely.

Gillian just knows the woman is about to volunteer to walk her. "I was just heading for the bus home," she tries to make it casual. Not a big deal, doesn't need an escort.

The woman looks across the street. "You're not far," she notes. Gillian follows her gaze, and thank god, sees the bus terminal a few meters down on the other side. She looks back to Gillian. "Feeling better?"

Gillian nods. "Yes thank you. Much better."

Her lungs hurt like a bitch.

And so does her wrist.

And now her ass is all tingly and numb because its cold and blood is getting back into it.

"I just slipped on some ice."

Which is true.

The panic attack is something else.

"Make sure you use this," the woman presses the inhaler back into Gillian's hand. Gillian says she will. She thanks her again. Then the woman nods and they part ways. Gillian steps more carefully on the curb this time and crosses the road.


	5. Chapter 5

If Cal could pace, he would. But his leg kills him most of the day and it's worse when he tries to move around; he doesn't seem able to learn that staying still is his best option (he's also meant to be keeping his leg elevated as much as possible). He does take to the couch for half hour blocks, with his leg up on the cushion to 'rest' it but he's nervous and has too much energy and if he can't literally pace around, then he does try to move (usually just getting up to look out the window), to keep himself busy. Gillian is going on three and a half hours now and he manages distraction for not even half that time, before he ends up just standing by the front door, leaning against the frame of the door that leads into the living room. If he was smart and maybe less paranoid, he would be standing in the dining room window, so he could see her coming up the path.

It starts to get dark early and he really starts to worry. He thinks about calling the police. He thinks about confessing to the marshals. Something must have happened to her. He calculates the distance on the bus, how long it would take, what would be a reasonable amount of time for a phone call, travel time back to Kasson, walking pace from the bus stop; but he can't work out what is taking so long. He keeps going back to something bad happening, something wrong with their plan; it was by no means fool proof.

When its black inside, Cal hops to the light switch and flicks on the hall light. He puts on the outside light too, to make it easier for Gillian to see as she comes up the path; he has to believe she will be. Soon. Hopefully. He really doesn't know what he'll do if she doesn't come back. He doesn't think she's taken off, though it would be a good opportunity to do so (he doesn't want to believe that. Doesn't want to think her capable of abandoning him). He knows he'll call the marshals though, confess to their stupidity, hope she's ok. They'll find her, even if she has done a runner. But inside, he doesn't know how he'll feel. Thinking about it even now in brief little bursts until he forces himself to change the subject, makes him feel odd and uneasy; all he has is Gillian.

So when he hears a key in the lock, not only does he jump out of his skin in shock, but panic and fear and relief go through him all at once. He reaches for the door as it opens, hopping in closer and yes, its Gillian and he practically falls into her, gripping her fiercely. It takes a second for Cal to realise she's not shoving him away, but holding onto him tightly too, and they stand in the front door, with it wide open, and the cold air coming in around their ankles, for long seconds before Cal's leg starts to ache and makes him need to move again.

"God I was starting to worry," he starts to tell her even as he peels her away from him. "What took so bloody long?" He's not angry. But his tone isn't entirely jovial. Too soon for that.

"The bus," Gillian mumbles.

Cal notices the wateriness to her eyes, the red of her nose, the tiredness in her demeanour. He shuffles back, lets her into the house, shuts the door as she pulls the woollen hat from her head, her hair static and messy beneath it. He wants to call her on maybe pushing herself to do too much right now (which is his fault) but he remembers his daughter. "Did you get her?" He asks urgently, crowding in Gillian so she has to answer him; not that he thinks she wouldn't.

"Yes," she confirms. "She's fine."

More relief goes through Cal, so acute it seems to pinpoint the rightmost edge of his stomach. "Where is she?"

"Staying at a friend's."

"Which friend?'

"She didn't say," Gillian responds almost warily as she takes off her jacket and scarf.

Cal edges back a little, gives her room to breathe, doesn't notice that she's gasping a little, like she's having trouble with it. "What did she say? Did the marshals go to see her?"

"She said she's fine, she's been worried about you, doesn't know what's going on and doesn't know what to do."

"What did you tell her?"

"To stay safe."

Cal stops to study his partner for a moment. She meets his eye but she seems to be hiding something and he doesn't know what or where to begin. He's not sure what to ask next.

"She's being smart Cal. She's staying with someone she trusts," Gillian looks him right in the eye for that one and he gets it. Emily didn't know what was going on, so didn't know who to trust. He supposes it's a good thing she didn't just go off with any man in a suit. Although the marshals would have ID. Still, could never really be too sure. And if she couldn't get hold of him to confirm either way... OK good. She was safe (he supposes. He doesn't know how far of a reach Willis has. If something happened to Emily, would Cal even ever know?). And Gillian spoke to her so that was a good thing too. He trusts both of them.

Cal sighs out his relief. And he looks at Gillian again. "You look cold."

"I am," she admits softly, absently hugging her arms around her body now she has no jacket on, and they're still standing in the entranceway.

"Well." He thinks of what he can do for her now. Not much really, with his broken arm and bung leg. "How about, go have a hot shower, and I'll heat up some soup?" He can still open a tin and stir a pot.

"Sounds great," Gillian looks grateful. Or relieved. But she still seems... off.

Cal steps back further, wondering what else happened on her trip; did something spook her? He'll get it out of her later then, after they eat and she's warm once more. There's no need to interrogate her the minute she gets through the door again (she wasn't overly receptive yesterday when she was straight out of the hospital either) and for now it doesn't seem like someone's trying to shoot up the house. He really is grateful to just have her back. And that she got a message to his daughter. Gillian moves to step around him but Cal catches her arm. She stops immediately, turns back, eyebrows up in question. "Thank you," he tells her and really means it. She gives a nod and they stand for a second so the other knows that it's completely genuinely sent and received. And then Gillian's moving again and Cal goes to the kitchen.

He manages to heat up soup, but Gillian takes a really long time in the shower. He does shuffle down the hall to listen at one point, but still hears the water (and her coughing), and gives up, goes to wait on the couch, the soup on the lowest setting to keep warm. When Gillian appears in the living room half an hour later, he struggles to get up to serve their dinner. Gillian stops him, insists that she'll get it. Cal feels bad (he did offer to cook for her, sort of) but he's also physically pretty useless right now. And it feels nice to be looked after a little; he's already spent too much time living alone with Emily away at college. If he were still married, he and Zoe would have their house to themselves, would have the time for each other, could have the inclination to travel or something else; they were supposed to be enjoying being empty nesters.

So much for that.

(If he were still married to Zoe, she would be here with them right now.)

Gillian's put the soup in deep bowls, which is good, because Cal is a little awkward with adjusting his body weight and if he sits too long, his ass gets numb. Gillian settles on the couch at the other end, an elbow knocking against the toes exposed from the cast on his right leg (because he sits with it stretched out over the cushions), but it doesn't hurt. She pulls the blanket over her legs, and Cal's too by default. She's wearing the thick sky blue hoodie again and he easily gets the impression she's still cold despite the shower; she hugs her soup bowl against her chest.

"It snowing out there?" He asks casually.

"Yeah," Gillian confirms.

So that's why she _was_ cold. But it doesn't explain why she's _still_ cold.

Cal takes a spoonful of tomato soup. It's not bad, considering it's from a tin, but it's not great; there's a weird after taste. But he eats it and Gillian eats most of hers. When she's had enough he asks for the rest and she passes it over. Hands now free, she pulls the blanket up closer to her chin. Cal's pretty warm and his skin tingles beneath both casts, making them feel itchy and claustrophobic, but he wouldn't give up the semi-cuddling on the couch. Not cuddling but... sort of snuggling. Without the snuggling part. What was that called?

And she was his _friend_, not his girlfriend.

Gillian closes her eyes as Cal finishes up the last of her dinner too. He's not sure she's gone to sleep exactly, but she looks pretty content half-lying there and as much as he wants to start asking questions about her trip out into the even wider world, he doesn't want to disturb her. She did him a big favour, it's earned certain discretions. So Cal digs out the remote for the television from the back of the cushion and puts it on, taking the volume down a few notches. He surfs around for something interesting and finds the movie _What Dreams May Come_. He thinks he detects Gillian's eyes flicker open to see for a second, but when he does glance over at her, her eyes are still closed.

One of her thighs is pressed against his unbroken shin and it feels too warm and fleshy and so real. He thinks he can smell soap between them but he's not sure and he's probably just imagining it. It feels warmer under the blanket now. Even the toes of his right leg, which are usually numb with the cold and exposure, feel sweaty. And that's gross. Cal shifts his weight a little, giving his backside some relief (he's spent entirely too much time on his ass these last days). Gillian gives a little sigh and her head lolls further to the side. Cal watches her for a moment, then feels a bit like a creep, even if she doesn't say anything.

He goes back to the movie, trying to pick up the plot line, but failing. Visually, it's interesting, or at least something to keep his eyes engaged, even if his brain goes back to wandering. He thinks about his daughter and hopes she really is ok. He thinks about Gillian going to make the phone call on his behalf. He wonders how much longer they're going to be there in Minnesota, before they get moved on to their permanent homes (he doesn't want to think about it too much, so quickly moves on).

And then something else distracts him entirely. It practically rips his attention from the TV and his day dream. It sounds like someone drowning; a wet gurgling sound. It takes him half a second to identify the sound as coming from Gillian. It's the way she's breathing, like there is water in her throat. It sounds the same as it did last night when she first got there and had snuck into bed to get warm. (Ok, he invited her in.)

It's a bit like listening to nails on a chalk board. And Cal lasts half a minute before he purposefully shifts his leg that she's lying on and jostles her a bit. She closes her mouth, adjusts her head, seems to settle again. But at least that horrendous breathing has stopped. He wonders if she wheezes when she's awake too, can't say he's noticed, but thinks he might start paying a bit more attention from now on. She did him a big favour and now he owes her one.

Cal goes back to the movie; Gillian goes back to sleep. And five minutes later that hideous gurgling sound starts up again and Cal is more focussed on her than the screen. He wonders if making her sleep flat on her back would help. Wonders if she should be sitting up more. Wonders if she's too cold. He wonders how he's meant to help her, or if he can. He knows she has medication somewhere and he thinks to maybe wake her up to take it. Gillian coughs a little, settles, goes quiet again. Cal gives up on chivalrous notions of waking her with a steamy beverage to help open up her lungs (or something. He's not entirely sure what to do with the gurgling. Is it mucous in her lungs? Or something else?)

When Cal goes back to the movie for the third time, Gillian starts coughing. And it doesn't stop. She keeps going, little tickly delicate coughs at first, then they get louder and more serious and she's gasping at the end of the bouts, hardly able to catch her breath before the next one starts, and Cal starts to feel the prickle of panic. He doesn't know what to do. When she starts to sound like she's choking, he caves and leans forward, grabbing her shoulder or arm (hard to tell with the blanket covering her up) and shakes her hard. "Gill, wake up," he says firmly (lots of practice waking a sleeping daughter).

She startles into consciousness, her breath sucking in sharply. But it doesn't come out and her eyes go wide in fear. Cal is about to remind her to breathe again when the breath shudders out of her in a great wracking cough and she's pushing to sit up (pressing desperately against his broken leg) and falls against his shoulder. She coughs again and again and Cal can feel her whole body spasm with the effort. He's really starting to worry; wants to do something to help her but feels helpless. His right arm is half around her ribs (and she constantly knocks into his cast as she convulses, which makes his arm ache) and his back twinges from the awkward angle he's sitting at. But he doesn't move. With his left hand he tries to curl back the hair from around her face, let her get some fresh air, but he's uncoordinated with that hand and ends up just caressing her head and face, whatever he manages to get to.

Gillian gasps a last breath and goes quiet and still. Cal moves his left hand to rub her back softly (he can feel her spine, even through the sweatshirt; which is not a good sign). He thinks the coughing fit might be over but when Gillian pulls away (practically gulping air) he sees a little sliver of red against her bottom lip. He's bringing his right hand in before he thinks, definitely doesn't ask permission to invade her personal space. He swipes the back of a finger against her mouth and the sliver of red becomes a streak. He's surprised, recognises it as blood, and feels his face tingle. He looks to Gillian and sees she's pale, and breathless, and there's sweat against her forehead. And more importantly, she looks horrified as she looks at his shoulder.

Cal tilts his head and sees the grey t-shirt he's wearing is smattered with blood droplets. The panic turns his stomach so suddenly he feels sick.

Shit.

Gillian's hand goes to her mouth next and Cal tries to get away from her. Bloody awkward with his broken arm and leg, but while Gillian sits there dazed, he does manage to untangle himself from her and the blanket. "I'm calling an ambulance," he tells her. Because coughing up blood is seriously not good.

"No," Gillian croaks a protest but he's already hobbling to grab the phone from the kitchen. He's mostly stepping on his broken leg and sharp pain shoots up to his knee but he's determined and he's scared. Gillian follows him. He glances back at her as he dials, sees she looks the same; a bit like a zombie. "I'll be ok," she tries to tell him, but she looks ill and _is_ ill and she should just...

"I'm calling them," Call tells her, half listening to an automated message asking him to select the service he requires.

"Cal," Gillian tries again but she's so feeble it's almost comical. "An ambulance?" She's trying to play the low profile card but again, he's not listening. It's not like he can put her in the car and drive her there himself. He can barely walk, let alone handle a gas pedal (besides, he is actually under instruction from the doctor that set is leg to not drive anyway). And he's not letting her drive herself. No way.

Cal doesn't even answer her. He turns his back, answers the operator when he's prompted and explains the situation. Some of the situation. His friend is having breathing problems. Has just coughed up blood (actually, quite a lot of blood). He figures he can explain to the doctors about the meth lab and chemical damage. Or maybe Gillian will have to, because he doesn't actually know what the damage is.

She didn't tell him.

And she starts coughing again.

**PJ**

Damn, Cal wishes he could pace. He doesn't like waiting, doesn't like sitting still. There's not a mad rush going on as doctors and nurses go in and out of Gillian's cubicle, but he's still anxious; doesn't like being kept in the dark either. They drew the curtain and left him to wait in the corridor. They didn't seem overly anxious in the ambulance either; gave her oxygen and took her blood pressure. Gillian hasn't lost consciousness but she does keep coughing and after one particularly bad bout, there was more blood. Cal's worried but Gillian just seems drained. He shouldn't have asked her to go make the phone call. It was two outings, two days after she got out of the hospital, and it was too much.

The medical staff spend at least an hour (probably closer to two) with Gillian before a nurse tells him he can go in and see her. Cal gets up as fast as he can, balancing on his left foot, quickly getting the crutches under his arms (was a little cramped in the ambulance with them) and starts swinging his way around the curtain; the nurse holds it open for him. Gillian's on the bed, under a white hospital blanket, canellas under her nose, with her eyes closed. Cal's right at her side before she cracks them open to look at him; opens them wider when she recognises that it's him.

Cal hops a little as he shifts the crutches. "Do you mind?" He asks as he moves to perch on the edge of her bed. Gillian makes a half assed effort to give him a bit more space but she barely moves and he rests against her hip anyway. "All right?" He asks softly.  
>"Yeah," she responds, but sounds breathless, a little wheezy.<p>

"Really?" Cal presses. It's not that he doesn't believe her; it's that he really wants to be sure.

"Yeah," Gillian says again.

"What happened?"

Gillian shifts and gives a small wince.

"Are you in pain?"

"Just a little. From the coughing."

Cal's not surprised. It sounded like she was trying to get rid of a lung.

"Want me to get someone?" Cal asks gently.

"No," Gillian answers shortly and he doesn't know what to make of that. Condescending? Or frustrated? "They think it's just a delayed reaction to the chemicals I inhaled."

Cal's stomach feels uneasy. He's not sure she's said it aloud before; it feels like the first time he's hearing it (that admitting it aloud means it happened: they were in a meth lab explosion). Gillian doesn't add anything else and so Cal isn't sure what to say. He thinks it's because she got too cold, but he doesn't have a medical degree, so what would he know?

"They're going to let me go in a few hours," Gillian does add.

Cal nods. "That's good."

"Did you?"

Cal meets her eye. "Yeah I called them. Felt I should, seeing as we were told to stay put."

Gillian flashes guilt, then nods this time, slow and deliberate, calculating.

"They're gonna give us a ride home."

"Did you tell them about?"

"No."

**PJ**

Gillian wakes early, maybe a little cold. It seems that despite wearing long trousers, socks and a sweatshirt to bed, she can't keep warm. She's fine if she's up and moving around, but she is aware of huddling all night and being uncomfortable and maybe a part of her feels weird about Cal's expression last night when she got into her own bed and he hovered in the doorway asking her if she was fine where she was, reminding her he was just down the hall if she needed him. It's hard to tell at this point who needs whom. It very much seems that they are leaning on each other. And yeah, a part of her thinks incessantly all night about getting up and going to get into bed with him, while another part wrestles with the idea that he is her friend and she isn't entirely sure she wants to get into bed with him just for the warmth, or for something else.

Everything about this situation has been turned upside down.

Finally realising she needs the bathroom, Gillian gives up on the hope of going back to sleep, and gets out of bed. The room is lighter but still pretty dim and the world feels silent and heavy. Cal sleeps with all his doors (and curtains, it seems; his room is much lighter than hers) open, so she has to close the master bedroom/bathroom door (quietly) to use the toilet. She debates over flushing; it's a noisy process, but also unpleasant to leave it (they aren't _that_ close). She goes for it anyway and washes her hands slowly, letting the tap run a small trickle (because that's less noisy), which means it takes extra time for the hot water to come through. By the time she's done (her hands are pink because the hot water is just too nice), she's feeling paranoid about every noise she creates, every movement she makes; her body feels foreign and her chest hurts.

Before she turns away to get back into bed though (she definitely plans on at least snuggling under the covers for a little longer), she hesitates and looks towards Cal's bedroom door. It's early, she knows, but she wonders if he's awake. She goes to the wood and pushes it a little, so that it inches open and she can see to the bed. He's asleep. Or at least, he has his eyes closed. Gillian inches the door open a little bit more to make sure she can see him accurately. All of the curtains are wide open in there and the falling snow makes illusions on the wall opposite. The snow should mean it's not this cold. Which means it's probably just her. Cal's warm though. He kept her warm the other night. And she can't bear the thought of her cold sheets now that she's not in them. She barges the door fully open with her shoulder and crosses the room quickly. She bends to the mattress, lifting the edge of the blanket and he stirs. "Move over," she whispers.

He grumbles something but obliges with a grunt and a wince (of pain, she thinks and feels bad for making him move. She should have gone around) but as soon as there's a corridor big enough for her to slip into, she does so. At least on this side, his left side, there is no plaster cast. Which means there is no barrier at all to snuggling in against him. She hugs against his arm, slipping her fingers in against his palm (a technique known to stop wandering hands, not that that was why she did it), rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. Cal grumbles a little in his throat but he doesn't shove her off, doesn't move much at all and after a moment, Gillian falls back asleep.

**PJ**

Cal drifts in and out most of the night. His leg almost constantly aches and whenever he manages to forget for a moment and tries to turn over (because it's so damn uncomfortable sleeping the entire night on his back), sharp pain reminds him of exactly what has happened and exactly where he is. So when he comes to awareness, his butt numb, he's only half surprised to find Gillian there. He remembers her coming in and he remembers moving over (great relief for his ass) and he remembers her cuddling against him. What he doesn't remember is the holding hands part. Or the bit where she has her other hand right over his nipple (lucky he's wearing a shirt). Yeah, that bit he's pretty sure he would have remembered. And it probably would have kept him awake.

He's awake now.

He lies still for a moment, his heart rate going up a few notches, his body temperate rising suddenly as well. It's too warm for him with two of them under the covers. And definitely excessively hot with Gillian practically lying on him. The extra body warmth makes him feel tingly with sweat and his leg itches like crazy on a spot on the back of his calf. Seriously, stupid fucking cast. It's driving him insane and it's only been five days. He wants to reach down to scratch at his leg but it's nothing but a lesson in futile. He can't even stick something that far down to get at the itch. He's thought about the logistics of it. He couldn't come up with anything long enough to start with, nor something that would be firm enough to relieve his skin, but flexible enough to go with the slight bend of his knee.

He needs a distraction, and even then it's barely enough.

Gillian stirs against him and oops, all his fidgeting has woken her. He lays still again, the itch seemingly starting to fade, but he's not sure. The urge to scratch is still overwhelming. Gillian's fingers squeeze against his and the hand on his chest brushes firmly against his t-shirt covered flesh before it withdraws. "Hi," Gillian whispers, shifting her head a little. He catches sleepy blue eyes for a second before they're gone again, her forehead against his neck.

"Morning," he tries, his voice not too croaky from misuse.

"You slept," Gillian notes.

"Yes?" Cal agrees, not sure what her point is.

"You didn't sleep the other night."

That's because she was there. He almost says that aloud. It could have been embarrassing. Or not, because he could just elaborate that he wasn't used to another body being in his bed, or that she slept so damn closely that he kept waking up. But neither of those excuses sounds entirely safe either. So he stays quiet. And he doesn't notice how itchy his leg feels for a few seconds. Gillian makes a good distraction. She always has.

"Did you sleep ok?" Cal tries to steer the conversation away from himself.

"I did."

"You got cold?" He guesses. He's not sure he remembers if she said anything to him when she came in.

"Yeah, earlier this morning."

He supposes it's not a good thing, her seeming inability to regulate her body temperature properly, but it's working out all right for him. "You're feeling better?"

There's a slight pause, but she does confirm that she is (and there were no drowning sounds or coughing that woke him up). She pulls away from him a little more and tilts her hip away from him again. He feels her startle and attempts to grab her (but fails with his casted hand. He just gets tangled in the sheet and crushes his fingers.) "Careful," he warns quickly as Gillian gains her balance herself. "There's not a lot of room."

Gillian's head comes up and she looks behind her. She is literally on the edge of the mattress. Cal attempts to move over a little bit more, give her more space, but she stops him with that hand on his chest again. "It's ok," she tells him. "I'll get up."

Damn.

He wants to think of a good reason why she shouldn't get out of bed but his brain isn't working fast enough yet. He needs coffee, food, and ten minutes to wake up. Also the bathroom. Gillian flicks back the covers, disentangles their fingers, and knocks her head against his jaw as she manoeuvres out of the sheet. She murmurs a sorry and stands, pulling the hoodie down to cover the small of her back again. Cal isn't sure how she can sleep in that thing and not die of heat exhaustion.

The skin is nice.

Gillian says she's ok but Cal isn't entirely convinced. She moves slowly as they go about breakfast and coffee and she doesn't suggest they do anything in particular after that. She does put on a load of washing, asking if he has anything he wants to throw in (and later, when he goes to the bathroom one time and hears the machine beeping that it has finished and he puts some of the clothes in the dryer, he grabs a handful of her underwear: first sighting). She doesn't even get dressed, just hangs out on the couch with him, getting up for food when he agrees to her suggestions. They watch TV for a few hours, and then, bored with that, they play cards. Gillian accuses him of cheating, even though he can't read her face for the life of him. Sometimes he thinks he sees something clearly, but then with her (well, at least since she admitted to deceiving him all those years and never letting it slip), he's not sure.

They were meant to have a conversation. About what they were going to do in regards to the case that got them here. And about what they were going to do once they were moved to their new permanent home. But Cal doesn't have the heart to bring it up just yet (the phone call and resulting blood coughing incidences of yesterday far too fresh in his mind). He feels he's pushed at Gillian either too much or too hard, maybe both, so thinks he should just back off for a moment. It's only a day and it's nice to just have the time to spend with her (because when he considers all the ways in which he might not have any time with her at all, he thinks this mundane little day is a pretty damn good compromise). His leg itches though, half way down his thigh and he thinks he can reach it with his finger if the gap between the plaster and his skin is big enough.

"Hang on," Cal tells Gillian, tucking his cards under his left thigh and leaning all the way back so he can get in to his right. He tries his index finger first, then his middle finger, but the middle one just brushes the edge of the itchy spot, infuriating it a little more. Cal gives a grunt of derision and looks to find Gillian firstly frowning, then switching to amused. "Need something longer," he tells her. A knife from the kitchen would do it. A butter knife.

"Blow on it," she tells him and gets up off the couch easily, knocking the cards that were on the cushion between them into disarray. She puts her cards down on the coffee table while Cal does a double take. It sounds like she just said she was going to blow him. But that can't be right (seriously, it can_not_ be right. Unless... No. No, no, he must have misheard). She leaves the room and disappears for a few minutes and Cal thinks he might have made it to the kitchen by now to get that knife and help himself out.

Cal wiggles a bit, kicking the cards into a bigger mess, trying to get at the itch. It is seriously so damn close. He hasn't often wished he were bigger, but right now he desires his fingers to be just a little bit longer. He feels a growl of frustration in his throat. Gillian comes back into the lounge with a hairdryer. She plugs it into the wall while Cal watches her incredulously. Seriously? He can't even...

"Move over here a bit," Gillian directs when it's clear the device doesn't quite reach him on the couch. She makes him stand right by the wall (so much for a bit), with his palms pressed against it like he's preparing for a full body search. When Gillian kneels by his hip he does actually start to feel a little uncomfortable. She looks up at him, her blue eyes clear and slight amusement on her face (perhaps the orientation of the situation is not lost on her either). "This is going to... help."

Cal gives her a frown, doesn't know what to say, doesn't really know what to expect. She turns the hair dryer on, sticks a finger into the top of his cast (on the side that is nowhere near his groin) and pulls a little, like she can peel back the plaster from his skin. He gets the hint and presses his leg back against the gypsum as much as possible and there is a gap big enough; he _can_ get his finger in there after all. Gillian angles the air so it blows down his leg and even though the distraction of her being so close was working just fine on its own, the cold air against his skin, which at first does nothing, helps. A lot.

He wants her to blow his whole leg.

Heh.

Cal chuckles a little and Gillian looks up at him again. "What?"

"Nothing," he responds. "It's a good trick."

Gillian gives a sly little smile. "It helps?"

"Yeah."

"Anywhere else?"

"My knee," Cal smirks.

Gillian twists her mouth, shifts the air back and forth across the top of his thigh. "Sorry. I only know a few tricks."

Gillian is on her knees in front of him, turning tricks.

Heheheh.

Gillian catches his grin and smiles pleasantly in return.

"I'll take what I can get," Cal tells her, shifting his weight forward onto the toes of his left foot and hands, so he's putting less pressure on his bad leg (it makes his muscles ache to hold it off the ground and yet even resting the cast on the carpet makes the point of the break hurt). Gillian makes this a little bit more bearable. He thinks life would be dull without her in it. And he's grateful that they've been kept together. If he was going to be stuck in this with anyone, he would want it to be her. 'This' being the witness protection thing. Cal realises he hasn't seen her smile that genuinely amused, that carefree, in a while.

Gillian shifts to the back of his cast, using her finger to wiggle into the gap and he presses his thigh forward this time, as much as possible. He tries not to think about her being that close to his butt and when something brushes firmly against it, he's startled, thinking it's her hand before realising it was the hair dryer. She murmurs a 'sorry' but keeps going and even though his skin isn't itchy back there, the cool dry air feels wonderful compared to the sweaty claustrophobic plaster.

Gillian is patient so it's Cal that calls off the blow job (he's _got_ to stop thinking like that). Mostly, he gets tired of standing that way, not that he doesn't appreciate the air and not that it doesn't feel incredible, he just gets tired of holding his weight on one foot and trying to keep the heavy cast from being weight bearing. He goes back to the couch, swinging his leg up to the cushions (cards are a complete wreck at this point) and shifting his butt down so his head is resting on the arm rest. He's more comfortable that way but he still makes sure to leave room for Gillian. She goes to the put hair dryer away, though he's tempted to suggest she leaves it out. He closes his eyes and feels her weight against the cushions when she returns. The TV goes on quietly and Cal drifts some more. And then he falls asleep.

Cal puts his fork back in his empty bowl. "That was fantastic. Haven't eaten that well in a while."

"You need someone to take care of you," Gillian says, then is embarrassed; her face feels warm.

Cal gives a small smile; his slightly amused smirk. "It's becoming more apparent."

Gillian gets up from the table, even though she hasn't finished (she wasn't overly hungry to start with, seeing as she has done nothing at all today). "Do you want some more?" She asks as she also takes his bowl. She moves into the kitchen.

"Nah I'm stuffed."

She watches as he struggles to his feet, leaning on one of his crutches and the table, then the door frame, to leave the room. Surely the hospital would have sent him home in a wheelchair. Cal in a wheelchair? She laughs to herself. Nope, can't imagine it (the way he goes, he would probably ignore it even if there were one provided). She rinses out their bowls (but leaves the dishes for tomorrow), puts the leftover food away in the fridge, and goes into the other room again (eating at the table was merely an exercise in breaking up staring at the walls. There are different walls in the kitchen/dining room to look at).

Cal nudges the remote towards her when she drops down next to him, so she flicks the television on and starts hunting. She gives up on finding something entertaining to watch, so settles on a music channel playing classics from her childhood (nothing contemporary at all), and reaches for the nail polish she found under the sink earlier when she was getting the hair dryer for Cal's leg.

'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac is ending when she checks her toenails to see if the nail polish has dried. She puts her socks back on and looks over at Cal. He's asleep again and it's good to see; he needs to rest (he's meant to be healing, and he doesn't seem to sleep so well when he's in bed). But she also thinks about waking him and making him go to bed. It's late and he'll probably wake early now. He napped before dinner too.

Today was a good day. It felt like a turning point of sorts. Cal slept and her lungs didn't feel as bad as they did when she woke up really early that morning. They even feel better than they did when she first got out of the hospital just a few days ago. And she, in general, feels good. More energetic, less tired, more focussed. Not that she's been exercising her brain in particular. There are still cards in the couch (she couldn't get them all around a sleeping Cal) and she's done nothing this afternoon and evening but dry the last of the laundry, paint her toenails and listen to music (watching the occasional music video). She didn't really cook anything elaborate for dinner either (it was nicer to get off the couch and do something somewhat constructive, rather than try to impress). Tomorrow, though, she thinks they should do something practical; maybe work on that email for the Lightman Group (though she's not volunteering to go out and send it. Not yet).

Socks on, the song ends, and ads start playing next. Gillian turns the power off. The room goes suddenly quiet and she looks over at Cal. He doesn't stir. He sleeps with his mouth open a little and seems vulnerable. Gillian slips the remote to the coffee tablet and gets up, untangling a leg from the blanket that was half over her lap (she also doesn't feel as cold as she did).

"Cal," she says. He still doesn't stir. It's kind of weird standing there, watching him sleep. It's not the first time she's caught him napping on a couch, but this is the first time she's stopped to think about it (usually she's on a mission to tell him something or get answers or go somewhere).

"Cal," she tries again and leans down to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze and a shake.

He startles and opens his eyes. "What?"

"Come on, let's go to bed."

He seems disorientated for a second.

"It's late," she carries on, letting him go.

Cal sits (struggles, actually) and manoeuvres himself to get up. Gillian reaches for his crutches (both together for once) and hands them over. He takes them without refusal, without fuss, and she puts out the lights and heads down the hall ahead of him, lighting the way as she goes and getting to the bathroom first. She doesn't linger in there, knowing he's half asleep and will want to get in behind her. She calls that the bathroom is free and goes out the hallway door to her room. She turns down the bed spread and kneels on the mattress (doesn't need to change into pyjamas) when she realises she forgot to say goodnight to Cal. She lies there with the light on, the covers up to her chin, debating with herself about sleeping with him. Not _sleeping_ with him, but going to sleep with him. He calls out a 'goodnight' and she echoes it and listens to him getting into bed. She waits a beat longer, but she's lost her nerve. So she puts the light out and lies in the dark, still thinking about him as she goes to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: there is an increasing list of people I haven't been able to contact individually to say thank you for reviewing. So thank you to you all. I appreciate your thoughts, encouragement and time._

**PJ**

The air is tense and thick. Cal beats Gillian to the kitchen the next morning but he doesn't make her coffee. When she greets him he grunts a response. She can't help but feel like he's annoyed at her (annoyed might be putting it mildly). And she can't help but think it was because of last night, when they yelled goodnight at each other through walls and doors and went to bed alone. What he doesn't realise is that she spent so much time thinking about him (and her decision to stay in her room) while trying to sleep, that it took her forever to drift off; she's just as put out as heis. The unfamiliar bed, the strange surroundings, even the clothes that aren't hers, they all feel less disarming when he's around. Even making coffee (and then breakfast) in a kitchen that isn't hers (that she still has to go looking for items in) feels less odd when he's at the breakfast bar, grumbling and shifting around, uncomfortable, but at least there with her.

So she made a mistake in going to bed alone last night.

She gets it.

It's not just him. It's her too. They clearly both want it (maybe need it?). Ok, Cal might just be grumpy in the morning before caffeine, and yeah maybe he looks tired because she knows he's not sleeping easily with his broken leg and massive white cast. But the tone in his voice last night, when he said goodnight from the other room, and then turned away. She thinks about these things. She might, just might, be reading too much into it, but she's pretty sure her intuition isn't wrong; he's hurt she didn't sleep with him last night.

Not _sleep_ with him, sleep with him. She's not... There isn't... She means sleep with him. Next to him. Sleep next to him. In the same bed. Sleep in the same bed as him. Not even next to him. On the other side of the bed. It's just the same mattress. And covers. That's all. Nothing... There's nothing...

"What do you want to do today?" Gillian changes the subject.

Cal, who is picking at the eggs she made him, (is there something wrong with her cooking? Hers tasted just fine. She's even managed to do the dishes and clean up in the time it's taken him to pick through half his breakfast. If he wasn't hungry, he should have just said and she wouldn't have gone to the effort) looks up. "Thought we could go for a hike, then rent a hot air balloon and take a tour of the lakes."

Gillian gives him a flat stare.

But it is kind of funny.

It's the tone that gets her. And yeah, she definitely feels like she's being punished somehow. There's a vibe, a tenseness that wasn't there yesterday. She thinks maybe they have cabin fever. She thinks she definitely feels claustrophobic (and she's getting annoyed again at how he's behaving). She thinks two hours in another room, alone, might be good for her. She tells him she's going to take a shower. He gives another grunt.

Back in her room, Gillian throws aside the curtains, half expects a familiar view, but is wrong all over again. At least the sun is attempting to come out from behind grey clouds, but it looks about as feeble as Gillian feels. Her mind goes back to the helplessness of the situation and she tries to ignore it. Thinking like that is not going to get her anywhere, and there is nothing she can do about it. She can only get on with it. She's not sure how she's going to get on with it (or just what exactly she is meant to be getting on with, seeing as they're stuck in limbo right now waiting for their new lives), but starting with a basic routine seems like a good place to begin; she's not unwell anymore (the extra medications she got at the second hospital visit two days ago have really made a difference), feels energetic and motivated (still not sure what she's meant to be motivated about but still... it's there). So she goes with it.

Gillian showers and washes her hair. She dresses in the jeans she bought herself and the comfortable twin hoodie to the sky blue one she's taken to sleeping in; this one is a pale green. She takes the time to dry her hair straight (as straight as she can get it), then rifles through the bathroom again to see if there are straightening irons, hair products, or something. She finds the bottles of nail polish again, moisturiser and mascara. She takes the polish (she put clear on her toes the other day. This time she's going to go for a colour. Because it's something to do), leaves the mascara and uses the moisturiser. It smells like vanilla. She heads to the living room to see what Cal is up to; she thinks she might be ready for some company again, no matter what he throws at her.

Cal is on the couch. Stretched out full length. Staring at the wall. Gillian watches him from the doorway for a moment but he doesn't shift (she's not sure he even blinks). He doesn't seem to notice she's there, because he doesn't speak, doesn't turn his head in her direction (though she is out of his line of sight). So she moves and as she comes around the couch she catches his attention. She goes for an arm chair, but he starts to shift to make room for her and so she hesitates a little and then he realises she was going to sit somewhere else. As she moves to sit with him he changes his mind and starts to settle back. So Gillian tries again for the arm chair as Cal notices she was going to sit with him after all and shifts to make room again. Gillian makes a quick decision (before this gets completely ridiculous. Or weirder): she wants to sit next to him. She makes a show of waiting for him to move out of the way and sits carefully next to his casted foot.

The television isn't on, so it seems Cal really was staring at the wall. Gillian takes out the bottles of nail polish from her pockets and looks over to Cal. He's watching her. She wonders if he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, or if he really is mad at her for not coming to sleep in his bed. She's not sure why the second thought makes her cheeks feel warm; pleased or embarrassed?

This could be a really long day.

Gillian decides on a colour, tucks a leg up so her knee was under her chin and pushes back the sleeves of her hoodie, preparing to paint her toenails. Dark red. It's called 'blood rose'. She gives the little bottle a shake and twists the top off and wonders why there would be nail polish in the safe house. Working under the assumption that someone stocks the house for guests such as her and Cal, why would they think of nail polish? (Maybe they just went to the pharmacy and grabbed one of everything off the shelf. Seems odd).

"What happened to your wrist?"

Gillian looks to her left, where Cal is sitting against the arm of the couch, watching her. She looks down at her wrists, not sure what he means; her right has a large red mark on the edge of her palm. It only hurts if she presses it (which she does. To see if it hurts). "It's a bruise," she tells him and goes back to her toes. Should have grabbed some cotton buds.

"That from the accident?"

For a second, Gillian feels startled panic. How does he know about the accident? But then she realises he means the explosion nearing on a week ago, not her fall in the street the other day (which until now, she's actually managed to not over analyse. Probably because the rush to the hospital afterwards over shadowed it. But now that he brings it up, she feels foolish for freaking out in the middle of the city). Everything feels like forever ago. Even a few days feels more like a week. Cal must sense something in her hesitation, because he presses her again.

"I fell," Gillian admits, glancing over at him, avoiding his eye.

"When?"

"The other day."

"Here?"

"When I was in town," Gillian mumbles while trying to sound nonchalant. There's a moment of silence and she thinks he might leave it at that. But she's so wrong.

"You didn't say."

"It didn't really come up," she tries to flash a reassuring smile, but now she's thinking about the panic she felt on the street that day, with the howling bitter cold and strangers all around. She's not been one to suffer from anxiety, certainly not panic attacks, and she feels irrational all over again; looking back on it, she doesn't really know what the problem was.

"You get that checked out?"

He means her wrist, when she was back in the hospital, getting treated again for her lungs. This one though, has an easy answer. "It's fine. Just a bruise." She's managed to forget about it. And if it were broken, she would not.

"Not broken?"

It doesn't sound much like a question and Gillian finishes up on her little toe to look over at him again, amused this time. He gives her surprise in response, a slightly raised eyebrow that invites her to explain. "Can you imagine it? Both of us in plaster?" She smiles and there's a tremor of Cal's lip as he gives in to a slight grin too.  
>"We'd be a right pair."<p>

Gillian smiles deeper, genuine (pleased the hostility seems to have died down, at least for a moment. She doesn't know what to do with him, but the talking seems to be working). She moves so her foot is on the coffee table so her toes can dry without her smudging them. She shifts her left foot so it's on the edge of the couch cushion, and her knee is under her chin, so she can start on the other toes.

"How did you fall?"

And now it feels like an interrogation.

"How does anyone fall Cal?" She looks over at him, briefly, then back to her toes and the dark red nail polish.

"You slipped, someone pushed you, you tripped..."

"I slipped," Gillian answered. Really, the more she thinks about it now, the sillier it seems.

"Icy?"

"Yeah I guess."

There's a pause. "Should be more careful," Cal mumbles.

It doesn't warrant an answer.

When Gillian's done with her feet, and has both of them on the coffee table to dry, they find a movie to watch (something by Dreamworks, as it turns out. Their latest animation) and Cal falls asleep half way through. He sleeps for several long hours (pretty soundly it seems) and Gillian finds something else to watch once the first movie finishes. And then she starts to feel like she's going out of her mind. She folds the laundry. Then she puts it away. She cooks dinner and puts it in the oven. Then she cleans the kitchen, does the dishes, finds she's run out of things to do. The timer on the oven says there is fifteen minutes left until their meal has finished cooking. So she goes to wake Cal.

Maybe she needs him after all.

**PJ**

Cal stands at the toilet. It's ridiculous, but he has to hold on to the wall to keep his balance while he goes (like he's had too much to drink or something; been a while since that happened), because it hurts too much to actually put his broken foot down on the ground and rest his weight on it, even a little. When he's redressing, looking down to see, he notices there is something black on the cast on his right leg. He flushes the loo and hops backwards, angling his leg in the light so he can see what it is. _Gillian was here_, is written in black marker on top of his foot (the right way up, so he can read it; so he will see it every time he looks down now). And his toenails are painted a dark red.

Cal stares for a second, not sure if he's imagining it, then quickly deduces his partner is having a laugh at his expense. He washes his hands (well, just the one, plus the fingertips of his right hand, really, really carefully, so he doesn't get the plaster wet) and dries them vigilantly. He picks up the one crutch he can favour on his left side and uses the wall of the hallway to hobble to the dining room.

Gillian woke him for dinner out of a deep sleep but he feels refreshed now (even though he also thinks he's probably going to have a shit time of trying to get to sleep tonight. He really should work on correcting that). He thinks about how he's going to get back at her for writing on his cast, but can't come up with anything good; an opportune moment will have to present itself (maybe he's still too sleepy at present). She's too nimble for him at the moment and his usual methods of evening the score aren't going to be practical right now either, while he's in plaster (and seeing as it could be at least six weeks, retaliation could be a long term process).

Cal gets to the dining room just as Gillian is serving up their dinner. She has set the table. Placemats, plates, knives and forks, wine glasses (for water), the works. Wow. This is... unexpected. And kind of nice. Gillian looks over her shoulder at him. "Come sit," she gestures to the steaming food on his plate. It looks like a casserole. Or some concoction. But it smells great and Cal is hungry (they skipped lunch). He manoeuvres himself around the table, grabbing on to Gillian's chair and hopping, switching the crutch to his other hand (fingers) and ignoring it now.

"I got your note," Cal says as he falls awkwardly into his seat, his arm brushing heavily against Gillian as he goes by so he almost takes her down with him.

"My note?" Gillian muses as she puts plates in front of their places.

Cal shifts in his seat, trying to move his bulky leg further under the table so he is at least facing the right way. It takes a moment and he bangs against the wood several times, jolting the point of the break, making it ache. As Cal moves, he gestures to the cast at his thigh and watches her face. She looks embarrassed, but also amused.

Gillian gives a little huff of a laugh. "Oh you did?"

"Uh huh. And lucky burgundy is in my wheelhouse of colours."

Gillian gives another small laugh. "Mine too." She sits and they eat.

**PJ**

Cal takes up one of his crutches and uses it and the door frame to propel himself out of the bathroom and towards the bed. As he's coming out of the smaller room, Gillian comes into the bigger one, with an armful of pillows. He's surprised but he doesn't say anything, even as she hesitates in the door way, waiting for a moment (maybe for invitation), before coming slowly into the room and heading over to the bed, where Cal has already started the awkward dance of dumping the crutch so he can get it in the morning and swinging his body around to the mattress without getting caught up in his cast or putting his weight on the break. It's probably something he wouldn't want Gillian to witness but she doesn't tease him about it and for that he's grateful (he feels his frustration just below his diaphragm and is sure the slightest provocation is going to unleash it).

Cal still doesn't say anything when Gillian puts the extra pillows down on the bed and pulls back the covers like she's going to get in there with him. Nope, definitely not going to complain about that. He doesn't even say anything when she makes him lie back while she puts one of the spare pillows under his broken leg. And then she practically tucks him in (still not complaining). She puts the light out, goes around the bed in the dark, and gets in next to him, like she does this every night, like it's completely normal. Maybe her getting into bed with him has become a little normal. It's certainly not great when she isn't there (he might have caught himself sulking about it a little earlier this morning).

Gillian settles easily and quickly and then the room is silent. It's a little different when she crawls in at some ungodly hour and he's half asleep. It's less awkward then.

"Does it feel better with the pillow?"

Cal takes a moment to think, to notice, to feel. "Yes," he grudgingly admits. Why didn't she do it days ago? Would have saved him a world of discomfort. He might even possibly, maybe, have slept better. It's been quiet for too long now. How could it be this weird when they've known each other so long? When they've shared a bed a few nights this week anyway? "Thank you."

Not easy getting those words out, but he _is_ trying.

"You're welcome," Gillian responds pleasantly. She might have been waiting for it.

"Personal experience?"

"Alec."

Silence.

Heavy silence.

Cal is surprised, startled, not expecting her to bring up her ex like that. But he supposes it's not completely out of line. He's just caught off guard. It must have happened before he knew her, the broken leg, because she would have mentioned it if Alec was laid up like he was. Which just reminds him that she had a whole other life before she met him, that it hasn't always been the two of them (it's _not_ the two of them; it sort of is), even if it feels like just the two of them now. And it just makes him feel weird, like he mentioned her recently deceased grandmother or something else equally awkward. He feels a bit like an idiot, getting closer to her when she's... not even married anymore, so why is he feeling so ridiculous about it? Gillian probably doesn't react like this to Zoe. He _knows_ she doesn't react like this to Zoe. Or maybe it's because she has gotten used to it because Zoe was still around for a while and Alec seems to have just dropped off the face of the earth.

And maybe he's totally over thinking it.

Thankfully, Gillian doesn't elaborate on that story and the weird silence just becomes a silence and after a while, it sounds like Gillian has gone to sleep. Her breathing gets even, slow and soft (and even more thankfully, doesn't sound like she's drowning in shallow water). She twitches gently a few times and gets quieter and Cal knows for sure she's gone. But he's wide awake. And he's thinking now about how he thinks about Gillian.

They're meant to be starting over, a new leaf, fresh chances. This is meant to be a whole new life and he doesn't know what else. There are possibilities but they have baggage. No one else would know, but they would. He's done things in the past and sometimes he honestly wonders why Gillian is still with him. And now she doesn't really have a choice. Which might not be as consoling as it seems. Truthfully, she could go and there would be little he could do to stop her (though he thinks the marshals would probably like it better if they were in the same place; easier to keep track of them that way).

Gillian shifts and rolls towards him. He feels the brush of her hand against his upper arm, thinks she might have curled up and tucked a hand under her pillow (has to rely on his imagination for lack of light). The fingers of his broken arm twitch towards her and he wants to tell her that he can't imagine his life without her in it, that if he has to be trapped in this hell of a situation, he's glad it's with her (even though he doesn't feel great about the bit where she got hurt in the explosion).

"You're still awake?" Gillian asks and she doesn't sound sleepy. It can't be that long since she drifted off (since Cal thought she had).

"Yeah," he whispers back when he starts to realise her question wasn't rhetorical.

"I let you nap too long today."

Cal chuckles and he hears Gillian give a short huff of amusement. "Well. You might have to keep me company now."

"No," Gillian grumbles. "I'm going to go to sleep."

"Yes," Cal shifts his left hand towards where he thinks her torso is and attempts to poke her. He's not sure, but he thinks he might have, it feels like it, but he's not sure; he thinks he accidentally touched her breast (or at least something else that was soft and fleshy). Which is how he starts speculating about the lack of sweatshirt. She was definitely wearing it before she put the light out. And he was pretty sure she hadn't taken it off before she got into bed. She might have, but she was quiet about it. And it isn't exactly pitch black; he didn't notice her removing a bulky item of clothing. But it feels like it is gone now. Not that he is really purposefully trying to cop a feel. But now that he might have...

"No," Gillian complains, shoving his hand away.

"Yep," Cal tells her, sounding bolder (even if he has to lie still for a moment, his heart beating noticeably). "You graffiti-ed my cast. You owe me." He attempts another jab to her abdomen (thinks he gets stomach this time; which is equally relieving and disappointing and a realisation that last time, he might have crossed over a line. And he is frigging pushing it, attempting to jab her again).

(Then there's also the bit where she didn't jump up with exclamation, or roll away from him in protest. Not that he's saying she wanted him to touch her in that way. He's just saying, she didn't recoil. Maybe he didn't touch her in any untoward way after all).

"If I black it out, am I off the hook?" Gillian mumbles, half heartedly fending him off (but somehow just moving closer).

"I dunno. There's also the issue of my toenails."

Gillian gives a louder laugh, sounding more awake and Cal smiles in the darkness; he likes the way she laughs. He can't see every detail of her face, but enough of her outline to know where she lies in proximity to him (right on the edge of her pillow, by the way; he can feel her body warmth across the small gap).

Impulsively, he angles his hand back and turns on the lamp next to his side of the bed, cutting off Gillian's 'what are you do?' Gillian _is_ facing towards him and she immediately frowns and tries burying her face into her pillow. She lets out a grumble, "you're cruel," and throws a hand at his chest.

Cal turns back towards her, eager. "Gill."

"What?" She grouches.

He wants to ask her 'what next' but he's not sure if this is the right time for the conversation (it's late, after all). And then he thinks about how the marshals are working to put together a new life for them and he and Gillian have made no demands about how that life is going to be. He feels like they're running out of time; they've spent days wasting it (it's actually a week now since the explosion, six days since he's been here and four since Gillian joined him). So maybe the conversation _is_ pressing. What he wants to know is: what does Gillian want?

But it's late and it's dark and it doesn't feel like the right time. He hesitates.

"Wanna play cards?" He quips instead.

Gillian groans. "Go to sleep."

"I can't," he complains and he's completely aware that he sounds like a petulant child. It was safe in the darkness and it's made him feel bold.

"You didn't even try."

"I did."

"Did not," Gillian grumps back. "What time is it?"

"Dunno," Cal tells her truthfully. There is a clock beside his bed but he can't easily just roll towards it and have a gander. He has to sit up on one arm and lean in. Bloody awkward being this broken up.

"Have a look."

"You have a look," he bites out a bit more sharply than he intended.

Gillian doesn't seem fazed by it. The atmosphere doesn't go tense or weird. She just picks herself up and leans against him so she can see the clock.

Cal uses his left hand to squeeze at her side, to steady her, that's his reasoning (he can definitely see there's no hoodie, just a t-shirt) and Gillian flinches away from him. But she's laughing a little so Cal takes that as a good sign; she might not be entirely mad that he won't let her go to sleep (he wonders if she did fall asleep before, or whether she just got quiet for a while, trying. Maybe slipping into stage one). She reaches for the clock to turn it further towards her (he doesn't protest. Kind of likes the way she feels pressed against his chest, to be honest).

"Well at least it's not yet midnight."

Which means it's probably pretty close. Time can play tricks when it wants to. Cal could have sworn it had been maybe half an hour since they got into bed, but really, it's been more like an hour and a half. He thinks Gillian really must have gone to sleep before and now he does feel bad for stopping her from getting back there. Gillian puts the light out again and when she settles once more, it's with her head on his shoulder and he can smell her hair and feel her body warm and solid against his (absent in the places where she curls around his casts).

"Gill?" He tries again. He doesn't know why he doesn't want the conversation to end just yet, he just knows that he doesn't. They spent all day together, all of yesterday, and yet right now is the time he decides he wants to talk.

"Yeah?"

"If you could live anywhere, where would it be?"

"Southern France," Gillian answers immediately.

Cal's surprised by her conviction; she's thought about this already. "Don't think the marshals will put us up in Europe."

"Oh you meant in America?"

"Sure."

"Mmm. New York," she answers, sounding wistful.

Cal doesn't like New York. The culture doesn't appeal to him. But he thinks he would tolerate it for her. Which is stupid because what scenario puts them in New York together? He's pretty sure the witness protection program involves staying away from the major cities; the idea is low key.

"What about you?" Gillian prompts. "Anywhere in the world?"

Cal has to think for a moment, because he _hasn't_ put any thought into this kind of scenario. "Germany," he decides.

"Why Germany?"

"Why not?"

"Fair enough." Gillian shifts, her body smoothing out along the edge of his casts, and her head repositioning on the pillow next to his, but close, so they can see each other (outlines, now their eyes have readjusted. Cal thinks the room has gotten lighter but there is no way that's true if it's nearly midnight). Even though Cal's on his back, his head is turned towards her. "What about in America? If you could pick where the marshals put us?" Gillian asks next.

Cal almost smiles (she sees through him) but has to take a moment to think about his answer. He half contemplates telling her something cheesy like '_I'd ask to go where you are'_ but manages to reign himself in before it escapes into his mouth. He's always liked DC though. He likes the climate and the atmosphere and he likes the politics of it. Boston pops into his head but a split second behind that is Zoe and so he moves on. New England might be nice though. Then of course there's the west coast, closer to Emily.

"Too many choices?" Gillian queries lightly when he hasn't answered yet.

"I like DC," he admits.

When Gillian answers, her tone is soft, and Cal can imagine the facial expression that goes with it. "Me too."

"Toronto," Cal settles on.

"That's not in America."

"You didn't say the United States of."

Gillian's tone gets more amused. "Fair point. I didn't."

Cal closes his eyes for a moment, pictures her leaning over him. She's beautiful and adorable and even though it's the dead of the night and he hasn't seen her with make up on in days, she still looks gorgeous (in his mind). And the way she looks at him sometimes (more often since they've been here), like she can see right through him to his heart, it makes Cal feel strange things inside, things he hasn't felt since he was a young man.

He's not sure he's thinking about that, or what he's thinking about, when he shifts forward to kiss her. Just a press of his mouth against hers; he wants to feel her lips (he wants to feel more than that, has for a while now).

Even that steals his breath.

He thinks he surprises himself with being bold and he's amazed more that she doesn't shove him off. She doesn't ask him what he's doing either, so he doesn't have to come up with an awkward explanation that would pale to how he really feels; he hasn't been able to put a name on it properly (even though he admitted to his daughter that he loves her. Sometimes it feels like it's more than that. If that is even possible). When he pulls back a little, it's impossible to read Gillian in the dark, so he's got nothing to go on, no clue from her eyes or mouth or jaw to tell him if he did right or wrong. He thinks sometimes there might have been something between them, clues that he missed, that he saw sometimes but was never sure about. He's even less sure now but she doesn't say anything discouraging (doesn't say anything either, actually, which _could_ be considered discouraging), doesn't move away, doesn't get out of bed, doesn't attempt to slap him (he's imagined too many scenarios where that's happened); but he can't see her face.

And then she's closing the gap to press her mouth against his and it sends a jolt through him. He kisses her back, tries to lean up into her but finds the angle awkward. His left hand cups around her jaw and it's clumsy as they bump off each other. Gillian breaks away and gives him a little push, suggesting he lie down again, and he goes with it as she sits up to shift closer to him, pressing her hip against his, her thigh against his cast (that can't be comfortable at all), her chest against his rib, a hand at his shoulder. She presses her mouth against his again, but it's a little more open; she's a little more breathless. So Cal goes with it, kissing her firmer, warmer, working against her lips purposefully.

**PJ**

At first, Gillian's not sure what's happening. She feels Cal move towards her and she feels something against her mouth but it takes a split second longer to comprehend what he's doing. He's kissing her. Finally, actually, just went for it, and now he's kissing her. In the dead darkness of the bedroom, but still, he took the plunge. She decides she likes it, despite the surprise; likes that he's made a move, likes how his mouth feels on hers, likes how it makes her feel inside. She's thought about it, of course, how it might feel to kiss him, or have him kiss her, and sometimes she's honestly thought that it could be weird. They're friends and they're business partners (or were. Were business partners) but maybe not. Maybe the business partner's bit doesn't matter anymore because god only knows what's happened to the Group since they've been gone (she still figures people have been told they're dead. But it would be hard trying to get around funerals and the legal ramifications. So maybe they've just disappeared and no one knows anything about where they've gone. Maybe everyone can work out they've gone into witness protection).

Cal pushes against her, trying to get leverage, but it sets her off balance and that sets him off balance and they bump against each other in the dark for a moment. Gillian pushes back at Cal's chest, making him lie back again and shifts in close to kiss him, reassuring that she's still there, still wants him; still wants to do this. Her thighs are pressed against his cast and she can feel the rough brush of the one on his arm against her hips and waist, where he wants to grab her. When he finally makes his way under her shirt, he scrapes the plaster right up her rib cage and she flinches away from him.

"Sorry," he whispers tightly.

"Mm," Gillian kind of hums with a little displeasure, reaching for his arm, not wanting him to pull away but unable to find the words to explain that quickly. She presses her mouth against his again (gets quite a bit of cheek in there before aligning their lips in the dark) and curls her fingers into his right hand. She feels him try to tug away, but she pulls him closer, pressing the mass of their fingers against the flat of her stomach, wanting him to touch, but hoping he gets that his cast is uncomfortable against her flesh. She feels the exact moment he gets restless, even as they explore each other's mouths; his whole body goes into motion. His fingers tug and pull from hers, coming back to stroke at her skin (so she slides her hand against his jaw), and his torso comes up to attempt to press into her again. His right leg pushes against her too, and she gets that he's trying to turn over, so he's not on his back. His mouth breaks from hers and it's awkward. Not only can he not manoeuvre all that plaster, but he can't lie on it either, and she's on the right side of his body. Gillian isn't encumbered, so she shifts up so she's on her hands and knees and Cal has no choice but to move back. She leans over him, sensing where his mouth is easily this time, and kisses him again, firmly, hoping he'll realise his limitations too. His left hand comes into play, squeezing at her waist, his right hand mimicking on the other side; the cast doesn't feel so bad when it doesn't scrape against her skin.

They settle into that position, Gillian relaxing her arms a bit more so their bodies touch and she focuses on the kisses, the scratch of his stubble (and trying to avoid it), the tease of his tongue. He's a very good kisser and it tightens her stomach into knots of wanting and excitement. Honestly? When she's watched him kiss other women, she's been a little jealous.

They start exploring bodies, Cal's hands more daring and Gillian shifting her weight so she can touch his torso without falling all over him. She traces the patterns of his muscles, his flesh, feeling her way in the dark, letting the images bloom behind her eyes, periodically disrupted by the electrical jolts of his fingers on her skin. He curves around her waist, hips, ass, breasts (over and under clothing); he's not shy or restrained. And interestingly, she doesn't seem to mind.

She feels Cal move again, drops the right arm, shifts his weight, like the roll of an ocean. Gillian goes with it (warm and enthralled), moving with the ripple of his body, until she finds that he's pulling away from her. He's reaching for... She hears the drawer open on his bedside table and then he's practically ignoring her, bumping her out of the way so he can reach. She thinks he might be putting the light back on (she might be a little mortified by that; this is much easier in the dark) but he's fumbling around in the drawer so that can't be right. And when he gives a grunt of displeasure, obviously not finding whatever he was looking for, she suddenly clicks. She moves away from him, crawling across the bed to the other side table and tugging open the drawer. She's not sure if she should be offended that he's presuming this is going to lead to sex, or whether she should maybe be glad she doesn't have to insist on protection if it _does_ lead to sex, or if she does want this to lead to sex (nah, ok, who's she kidding? Yes she does), or if this is just sex, or something more, and if she wants it to _just_ be sex, or something more, and if they should talk about it before they do it or whether it's just better to go with it and maybe talk about it in the morning. Or not at all? As her hand slides against the wood inside the empty drawer Cal angles himself out of bed and she hears him hop, thump and wince to the door to the bathroom. The light goes on. She gives up on the drawer, tries to ignore the nervousness threatening the arousal.

Cal's back. He hops and winces over to the bed and Gillian shuffles over on her knees to meet him, gripping the back of his head to angle his mouth to kiss him. The tug in her stomach is harder, sharper, and even though there's light now to see him by, she closes her eyes and uses her imagination. She uses her right hand to grip at his shoulder, goes with the sway as he keeps his balance, feels around the curve of his neck, then down against his chest. He's solid under fingers, hard, his muscles tighter than she might have thought; she likes it.

They kiss and explore (at least he's not rushing her into going further) and she gets bold and tugs his shirt over his head, smoothing her hands down his bare chest. He's breathing heavily but so is she and she feels the scratch of foil against her skin, reminding her (maybe asking her). She shifts back, tugs him towards her, down to the bed and he gets the point. But it's an awkward jig of their bodies so she gives it up, moves right back, gives him the room to angle himself to the bed. He turns and balances, then drops himself to the mattress, and while Gillian waits, she takes her clothes off (the bottom half). He's left the bathroom light on and the door wide open, so she can't hide in the dark anymore and she feels a little self-conscious as she realises he's watching her from his position propped up by the head of the bed (like he would do anything else but have a good look). She tries to ignore it, that prickly feeling of being naked in front of someone for the first time and crawls into his lap. She closes her eyes again and kisses him. She balances her hands on his shoulders, dropping back her weight to see where she is, to see what she can feel. His hands glide over her bare flesh, fingers of one hand, palm of the other. She feels exploration on her thigh, trailing up and she squirms away from it, wanting him to, but being too logical; she warns him about getting his cast dirty (irreparably wet) and he half smirks at her, his eyes dark in the dim light. She drops her head to kiss him slowly again, the tempo building gradually; he doesn't attempt to touch her there anymore but it doesn't stop her from exploring him, feeling and gauging, guessing with her eyes closed what he looks like exposed and under her hand. Cal gives a grunt and Gillian pulls back to look at him, to give him the chance to say what he wanted to say against her lips. His eyes are careful but lustful, as if he's asking her if she's ready to do this now.

Yes, she supposes yes, she is.

She gives him room to put the condom on, trailing her lips around his neck, leaning over him on her hands and knees. He squeezes her thighs when he's ready and she can feel the tight coil of his body in waiting, wanting. When she shifts back and can feel him, she almost hesitates: the point of no return. But he wants it so badly, she can practically taste the desperation and she wants it too, a sharp spike of desire (if not just to get it over with). She goes for it, talks herself into it.

Cal's tense and gripping at her harshly, pushing and quick; quick in every sense of the word. She's just starting to get into it (shutting up that nagging insecure voice and listening to her body instead) and it's over, heavy breaths held in the air and the shudder of his body beneath hers. She half forms a 'no' in her head to tell him to wait, that she's not ready, but she's too slow; she doesn't know until now the cues of his pleasure. She doesn't think to fake it. But she doesn't let on that she's disappointed; she thinks he might not notice anyway (he's distracted with himself). And if he does ask, she'll just tell him the truth.

He sits up against her and she holds him, keeps a slow tempo of her hips (she might get something out of it after all...), pressing her chest against his and soft kisses against his skin. When he comes back to her, he wraps his arms around her back (cast pressed against her spine), holding her tightly, and she thinks this might be the nicest part of it all. She slows to a still and they just hold each other for a long time, her face pressed against his neck, her breath puffing gently against his throat, unwinding slowly and tensely (she _didn't_ get anything out of it, but it almost doesn't seem to matter too much). It's dark here and it feels safe and it's so nice to be held but when he shivers one last time she pulls back, a slight smile for him, another kiss on the mouth and moves away. They fumble and fight to regain balance. Gillian finds her clothes and pulls them back on; she can hear Cal shift and adjust behind her. She slips back under the covers, settles on her side of the mattress and still Cal is not motionless beside her. She finally looks over, sees him trying to settle on his side, troubled by the bulky cast on his leg (he kicks her twice but doesn't seem to notice, and she doesn't protest). At last, he settles on practically lying on her and when she tries to shift and move away he holds up his left arm, an embrace open and waiting for her. She sees him try to form the words to ask her to cuddle with him but she works it out before he can voice them (saves him the embarrassment), and as she moves in closer (an obtuse angle to avoid the plaster on his leg, but still get close to his chest), she catches the relief on his face. That's ok, she wants it too. She tucks in against him; her arms folded up between them and rests her head against his cheek. He kisses her forehead. And it feels sweet and secure. Gillian closes her eyes, wonders where they go from here. It's not just this night, but all the others to come; it's all the things unsaid between them, and the feel of his body against hers.

**PJ**

Cal wakes early. His ass is numb and painful and when he shifts his weight a little to one side, the relief is incredible, and awkward. He's flat on his back again. He woke in the night, had to move, had to dislodge Gillian (he only really has one option for sleeping: on his back. But maybe now he can manage a few hours lying on his broken side). Before Gillian got here, those few days he was in the house alone and going out of his mind, he would get up and go to the couch to watch television. But the first night she came back from the hospital was the first night he stayed in bed; he didn't want to accidentally wake her and he tended to knock into things with his crutches and bung leg (especially if he was moving around in the dark). And as it turned out, it was fortuitous that he _had_ stayed in bed, because she came in. She is still here now, her breath soft and not strained on the pillow next to him. Even though it was scary that she was coughing up blood, Cal half thinks it was a good thing, because the extra treatment she got at the hospital has helped a lot already.

Cal tries shifting again, trying to get his weight somewhere that isn't dying but he's awkward and it's frustrating. He thinks about just getting out of bed anyway, but figures it's highly likely he's going to wake Gillian if he does (he's like a turtle trapped on its back), and he's already disturbed her twice in the night. He tries turning onto his left side a little but the weight of both casts tries to pull him back again. So he tries his right side a little (he can't make it all the way over without sitting up and throwing himself right over, and that would definitely wake Gillian) and its better (even if the pressure on his leg makes the point of the break ache heavily. He can take it for a few minutes until his ass isn't so numb, until the blood gets moving again).

"You ok?" A sleepy voice asks him in the dimness. It's far too early for the sun to be up and he hopes that it is at least morning, not the dead of the night. He left the bathroom light on and it still shines a rectangle of light across the bed.

"Yeah," Cal whispers back, keeping it short. So, he woke her anyway. He goes quiet, hopes she'll just go straight back to sleep, but she shifts towards him, even grabbing at his ribs to pull herself in closer. She also upsets his balance and he tips onto her. They fumble in the sheets and against each other until they settle again.

Gillian clears her throat but doesn't speak and Cal finds himself waiting to hear her voice. He wants to her to go back to sleep, but he doesn't. Now that he's awake again, he's awake. And he wants her to talk to him, distract him. When she keeps his mind occupied, he doesn't seem to notice how much his leg hurts, how badly uncomfortable he feels; how horrific the situation is.

Last night.

"You're awake?" Gillian notes and she doesn't sound half as asleep as she did a moment ago.

"Yeah," Cal whispers back, waiting to see where this is going.

Gillian turns her face towards him, squinting her eyes so they're practically closed. "What time is it?"

"Dunno," Cal tries again.

Gillian's face slackens into a dealthy unimpressed expression. "What time is it?" She asks again, as if she's convinced he does actually know.

"Uh, probably early," he almost winces.  
>"Cal," she complains and shifts so she can lean against him to see the clock. She groans louder when she identifies the numbers and slaps at his chest again, "it's nearly ten o'clock."<p>

Wow he totally misread that.

They both startle at the loud knock on the door. Gillian shoots him a look but he doesn't know who it is (or what she means by the look). She pushes off his chest and slides out of bed, stopping to readjust the clothes she's sleeping in (he looks, but there isn't much to see. She drops beneath the edge of the bed, crouching, not bending over to maybe do something with her feet?). Cal pulls himself to sit with his abdominal muscles (which is better than leaning on his arm) but Gillian is already out of the room before he even swings a leg from the mattress.

Gillian hurriedly straightens her shirt, finger combs her hair and picks the sleep from her eyes as she makes her way down the hallway. But she needn't have rushed, because the person at the door has a key, and they're letting themselves in. Her heart hammers for a second with surprise and fear but it's Agent Walker. He pokes his head into the frame, looks around and spots her and straightens up, coming in. "Oh good. Gillian. Where's Cal?"

"Asleep," she mutters, not thinking about the question, but more about the man's presence. They've been left to themselves for days, waiting, and now it occurs to her that the marshal showing up again probably means one thing.

"Oh," Walker says in return, and at least he doesn't make a show of looking at the time. Yeah, she gets it, they slept in and it looks lazy (but at least he didn't see them coming out of the same bedroom. Or worse. Coming _into_ the bedroom to find them. That would have been far more embarrassing). Walker comes in further and swings two empty, black, duffel bags towards Gillian. She takes them. Cal approaches behind her using the wall and one of the crutches. "Pack your things. We're leaving in an hour," the Agent tells them.


	7. Chapter 7

For two days, she didn't really think about it. But now that the craziness has died down, it's on her mind. They had sex just that once (three days ago now). And even though it wasn't the best, mind blowing (hardly close to be honest)... she's thinking about it. She had sex with Cal. _She_, had _sex_, with _Cal_. There was kissing and touching and... actual sex. It's kind of... mind boggling, really. That she and Cal did it. Yep. She slept with her friend. Which, to be honest, is not something she's done before (obviously, she's not slept with Cal before). She's not been the kind of woman who has a friend with benefits. And besides all of that she has no idea how Cal feels about all of this (they've been extremely busy the last few days. She's been falling asleep on the couch right after dinner), because they haven't talked about it. And she hasn't attempted to pay attention to comments, gestures, glances; instances. But she's thinking about him now though (about what happened), and the feel of him (tentatively remembering). Even if it wasn't the greatest for her (in _that_ way), it still kind of was. Because it was them. Because it was _finally_.

And she doesn't believe that was it.

But 'should she' or 'shouldn't she' makes her nervous. She's been busy setting up their new house (their now permanent residence, a different kind of nervous thought), so she's been distracted, but now that it's all stopped (the extremely tedious flight with a cramped up Cal, and unhelpful flight attendants; the car ride with a grumpy Cal, the hours of shopping with an exhausted Cal), she's back to thinking about Cal. Should she? He's lying on the couch now (staring at the wall, or reading; he does either) while she sort of maybe hides a little in the bedroom. The bedroom upstairs. There's just one on the second floor, with a bathroom, and another guestroom downstairs (and another bathroom) but Cal took one look at the stairs and passed, so he's set up down there and technically she's set up upstairs, but even though they haven't been... _sleeping_ together... She didn't have the heart to sleep up there alone. She slept in Cal's bed with him.

And he didn't try anything.

Which makes her think maybe she shouldn't. She's not sure. The signals are hard to read. He was all over her that night (confident), but now there's little interaction besides bitching at her about most things (he's tried, his leg hurts, his leg is itchy, his leg is heavy, how much longer is this going to take? Do they really need to have the couch and curtains match?). Yes, they've been busy (they picked out an entire house in a day and then had to put it together; quick decisions) and yes they're trying to get used to a new situation (they're married in this life. Yeah. Married.), but she kind of thought after they finally had sex he might be... a bit more interested, or more overt about his affection than usual. A bit more _Cal_-like about it. (Note she said finally. Because she really did start to think they were just a matter of time for the two of them). She's seen him hanging off other women and he is not restrained about it at all (bulging-eyed cartoon character practically panting after them and floating a foot off the ground).

Which makes her think maybe it was just sex for him. Because surely he would have indicated by now if it was something more otherwise. Maybe it _was_ just sex, and he got his rocks off, and he didn't notice (or say anything) about her not getting the same kind of enjoyment, because that wasn't really what he was aiming for (as in, he just wanted to get his leg over, so to speak, not start something with her). So maybe it really wasn't anything. But she can't quite believe that because, well, it's Cal, and even though she's only slept with him once, she's seen him with other women (wife and one-night-stands) and they certainly seem smitten enough to hang around (which means he really must be making them... enjoy being with him). They didn't seem to be complaining (and Zoe kept coming back for more even after they were long divorced). There must be something about him in the sack that makes these women want to try for a repeat performance. She really can't believe he'd be terrible in bed. He's too _confident_ for that (unlike, say, Alec, who was always a little insecure).

And then she goes back to: maybe she should. Maybe she should be the one to make a move. Who says he has to do it? Maybe he's waiting for her. Maybe she hasn't shown enough interest, given enough of the right signals herself (she's been distracted. She might not have. It's feasible. Maybe he thinks she's not interested after all). But surely he knows? She catches _herself_ staring at him sometimes. But maybe... She did get into bed with him the last two nights... but that was it. Ok so maybe she's being far too delicate. Maybe he's cautious (it is a big deal, considering their friendship/history). He didn't say anything but maybe he feels self-conscious or something about the fact that she didn't orgasm and he did (he'd really have to be a kind of selfish to not let that be a worry) and maybe she's being stupid. If she wants something, she should go after it, right? She's a grown up. She wants him. She doesn't need to hide in the bedroom moving around the scant amount of clothing she took with her from their temporary safe house (they were given money to set up the new house, and there is an allowance for clothing too; she just hasn't had a chance to go get some yet; she'll need work clothes. Can't bring herself to even ask Cal if he wants to go with her. Hasn't been able to face it yet).

Not that she has to go in there and jump his bones. She could just spend time with him. Talk to him. She doesn't have to hide (isn't afraid of him). Watching endless movies and reruns of old TV shows does her head in a little but... There are things to do, she supposes. She has a job interview the day after tomorrow (the marshals lined up a job for her too. She pretty much just has to show up and the job is hers). It's at a high school, as the new guidance counsellor, but it's been so long since she's done anything like that, that she may as well find out about the job description. Besides, she has to remember what her new name is (Smith. How original. They're allowed to keep their first names and she figures it's going to be tough enough as it is without also remembering to respond to a new salutation) and think up a plausible job history that doesn't involve eight years of working with Cal in deception, if she's asked (her qualifications and references are going to check out apparently, but it doesn't hurt to have an answer ready, in case someone asks her). She doesn't know what Cal's going to do. Nothing, probably, until his leg heals. But after that... she doesn't know. For now, she's going to be the breadwinner (she's ok with that, but is Cal ok with that? He's not overly chauvinistic, but, it's just that they've never been in this situation before. _They_ haven't, and that might be worth a conversation.)

They have new phones, new laptops, new tablets; a lot of new things. Gillian picks up one of tablets from the dining room table (which is also a bombsite of paperwork right now; the legalities of new identities) and heads for the living room. The house is small but comfortable (and it's paid for) on the edge of Fairview, in Boulder, Colorado. The neighbourhood is quiet and yesterday there were visitors welcoming them to the street (they brought muffins and a casserole). Gillian's already forgotten their names. No one has come today (so far), probably because it's raining heavily, and she's kind of glad she doesn't have to put a smile on her face and make pleasant small talk; she feels overwhelmed by it all.

Cal is stretched out on the couch. His only requirement in furniture was that it wasn't a weird colour (which turned out, was more complex than it seemed. They settled on dark brown. Which was a _compromise_) and he could lie full length on (Gillian isn't sure if that's a normal requirement or a new one, now that he has a broken leg). When she comes in he bends his left knee to give her room to sit, even though his cast is still in the way. Gillian puts a cushion over his ankle and leans against it, and when he doesn't flinch away or grumble about her hurting him, she relaxes into the position a little more. She puts her feet up on the coffee table and balances the tablet on her thighs. She swipes a finger over the screen to wake it up and taps to bring up a web page. She looks up her new school, looks over the faculty, a campus map, a street address. She google maps the location, checks the travel time from the new house; saves the page for later. Then she brings up email. And then she stops. Checks herself. She can't sign in.

"What?" Cal asks.

Gillian turns to him, a half smile (he was watching her?). "I was about to check my mail."

Cal smirks a little. "I keep thinking I must've missed phone calls."

"Right?" Gillian asks him amused. "It's too quiet."

"For us, yeah." He stretches out his left leg again, and rests it in her lap, not an ounce of self-consciousness, like they sit this way all the time. Gillian's now sitting in the frame of his shins (she does _not_ look at his groin) and she adjusts the tablet so it's resting on top of his leg. "What are you up to this afternoon?"

Gillian looks over at him. "Not sure. Why? Did you want something?" It looks like, for a second, that his face clouds, in anger or confusion, she's not exactly sure. But he shakes his head a little, tells her he was just asking. Which makes her think he wasn't 'just asking' at all. But he doesn't elaborate and she wonders what it was he was going to say or ask. She wonders why he seems to take a step forward, and then shies away again. Like them having sex. Big step forward... little steps backwards (until they're at the point where they were three days ago? Three years ago?).

"I did think about going to do some clothes shopping," she looks back to the tablet, decides to search for the local stores; saves her from having to work it out while she's also driving (they were given a car too, but Cal's still not allowed to drive).

"Oh yeah?" Now Cal is amused.

"Have to have something to wear to my interview."

"You nervous?"

Gillian shrugs. "Not really."

"Your shoulder tells me otherwise," Cal notes drolly.

Gillian tightens her mouth into a smile. "Maybe... It's going to be an adjustment."

This whole thing is an adjustment.

There's silence between them and they're both thinking about it; the possibility of their life now. Gillian figures there's no point in thinking about getting out of there; she needs to come around to the idea of forever. She can go back to counselling. She can play house like a pro. It doesn't seem as daunting or suffocating as she thought it might have been, now that she's here. And she's with Cal. He is at least a friendly face. He's not a stranger.

Gillian catches the tablet screen starting to fade and brings it back to life. She maps a path from their house to the mall (it's pretty straightforward, and not too far, so she commits it to memory. In her brain. Not on the tablet). "Do you want to come with me?"

"And watch you try on dresses?"

She supposes he's trying to be snide and offending, but it actually makes her feel squirmy inside; the idea of him seeing her naked (even though he didn't actually say that). Again. Seeing her naked, again. "Well," she counters. "Do you want me to get some things for you?"

Cal watches her for a moment, then pulls a thinking face. "Yeah maybe some socks and underwear." He sounds so casual as he speaks, like it's not a big deal at all. But then they both think about it (what does underwear relate to?) and he gets quiet and still. Gillian feels warm, hopes she isn't blushing and finds herself avoiding his eye; now she's not just thinking about his underwear. "Maybe I should come," Cal mumbles.

"Uh huh," Gillian agrees, leaning forward to put the tablet on the table. She drops her legs and Cal shifts his weight, so she goes with the momentum and gets up. "Then you can get whatever's comfortable."

Yep. Just made it worse.

She high tails it from the room, goes upstairs to change (she doesn't really need to, but it's a great distraction. Besides, if she's going to change in and out of clothes, she wants to wear something easy and comfortable. And she needs shoes). When she comes back down (in basically the same clothes anyway...) Cal is sitting up on the couch, his crutches nearby, ready to go by the look of it. They haven't done this before. Clothes shopping. (Or other domestic things, to be fair). He starts to get up so Gillian grabs keys and heads out, bringing the car down the drive, closer to the door. They haven't designated themselves keys yet; there's a house key and a car key each on two bare chains (stark reminders that this isn't their normal yet).

Gillian leans over to put the passenger seat right back as far as it will go. Even then, Cal has a hard time of hopping and shifting his weight, trying to swing his leg in. Gillian gets out to take his crutches and put them in the back seat and when she's back behind the wheel, she can tell his mood has plummeted. She'd offer to buy him a muffin, but those kinds of things don't make Cal smile (and she thinks, as she drives, that she's not sure she does know what makes him smile. If it's not work related.)

When they pull up at the mall, Gillian lets him out right by the door (no mobility parking for them) and retrieves his crutches. After she parks the car (a Ford Focus, so at least it's roomy) Gillian walks back to the entrance and finds Cal sitting inside the door in a complimentary store wheelchair, his broken leg stretched out on the raised leg rest. He gives her a little smirk when she approaches (and he looks sexy doing it), "Thought I should be comfortable."

"Suppose you expect me to push you around now too?"

"You do that now don't you?" Cal teases.

"Hey," Gillian protests on cue, walking behind him.

"Can't do it myself," he goes on, raises his broken arm and wiggles the fingers at her.

Gillian hoists her purse further onto her shoulder and gives the chair a shove forward.

**PJ**

Cal thinks he's going to be crazily bored and he's half regretting agreeing to go shopping with Gillian (aside from the spending time with her bit) but it's not nearly as painful as he thinks. Pointing out the underwear he wants while she reaches for it is almost amusing (because she seems so embarrassed. And he knows exactly why, but isn't sure what to do about it; make it easier for her or worse) and the fashion show of her trying on clothes is certainly pleasant to watch (a very good excuse for checking out her figure, especially because she blatantly asks for his opinion). And she's restrained. She makes quick decisions and picks out a dozen outfits easily (shoes are a bit more tricky) and several hours goes by quite painlessly. She buys him a muffin with a funny grin and he suspects there's something to it, but he hasn't figured out what yet.

It's not entirely easy, to be fair. There are moments (like with the underwear) when he thinks there's an awkwardness to them. They had sex three days ago, before they were completely uprooted (again) and moved clear across the country (again) to a house they didn't know, a city unfamiliar (another one). He thinks if they slow down for a second, Gillian might bring it up (the sex), but on the couch, when she was searching on the tablet, that would have been a good time for it (he was physically trapped there), and she didn't. She hasn't mentioned it at all, hasn't even dropped hints or started a conversation and Cal's not sure if he should be the one to go first. Maybe she's decided to completely ignore anything happened (maybe she regrets it). Which he... He doesn't know how he feels about that. Not great. But... He's not going to bring it up.

He's chicken.

When they get back to the house (their home), Gillian takes her bags upstairs. She moved in up there and even though Cal was desperate to go with her, the stairs would have been his undoing. And yet, to his relief, when it was bed time on the first night, even though she went upstairs to change and brush her teeth (and he was getting grumpy because he thought he was being abandoned again), she got into bed with him (it was a _huge_ relief). Nothing happened though. They went to sleep. Gillian goes to sleep easily (quickly), while Cal is left to think about _that_ night and what the hell he's going to do about it. He doesn't even have the courage to cuddle with her because turning onto his side is such an effort and whichever side he does lie on, his casts crush the unbroken parts of his body. But he wants to. And he has always been a fan of going after he wants.

It's just that it's Gillian.

It's not just sex, its feelings. And it's not that he's not sure about his feelings (he mostly is), it's just that he doesn't know how to tell her about them. He kind of needs Gillian to start, to go first, and he'll be in there, he'll tell her, but he doesn't want to go first (he's chicken. That's been mentioned right?). He's not sure how she feels and seeing as she's not talking about it, he's more nervous. The little hope he has feels vulnerable. His whole world feels like its teetering on the edge at the moment; too much uncertainty.

When Gillian comes back downstairs she offers to cook him dinner and he sits in the kitchen with her while she makes chicken and rice. It's raining heavily again and she comments about the timing. Because going out in the rain would have been doubly hard with his casts. They're tedious. And it hasn't taken long for them to get that way. They're heavy and pull on his body. Not to mention the water thing. And then there's the fact that he can't stand and help with dinner, can't go to Gillian when he wants to, can't hold her in bed, do things for her, romance her...

It does very much feel like she's waiting on him hand and foot.

By unspoken agreement, they watch the news. And it feels strange to suddenly let the outside world back in. There are floods in India and fires in Australia, and it seems as if nothing has changed. There's no big media blow out about their disappearance; the local advertisements are foreign. It suddenly occurs to Cal they're now in a completely different time zone to back home and he's not sure he can refer to home as home anymore. He takes the tablet from the coffee table where Gillian left it before and plays with it for a while, opening all the apps to see what they do (he's never really had a go on a tablet before) and then he finds himself snooping through the search history to see what Gillian was looking at before. He half expects clothing stores but he finds Boulder High School.

Oh.

Yeah.

She has a job to go to. Or a job interview, in the very least. Though Cal suspects if the marshals really were the life miracle workers that they seemed to be, the job was practically hers anyway and the interview tomorrow was just a formality. Cal had forgotten about that. And he also remembers: they're married. Sort of. They're legally... 'bound'. As in, the house is in both of their names, the car is in both of their names and they have a joint bank account (Gillian will work and Cal gets a stipend until he can work and it looks like it will be enough to live on. The house and car are paid for; part of their compensation for being the state's witnesses). Legally, they now have the same last name and all that is missing is a ring on their fingers and a marriage certificate. He's not sure how it works (but the marshals went ahead when neither he nor Gillian contacted them about a plan. He's not sure if they just assumed, or whether they wanted to keep them together). He figures by all outwards appearances they're married and meant to look married, but he hasn't asked Gillian how she feels about it, what she makes of it; whether she's going to tell people she's married. If she _wants_ to be married.

(That makes him feel throat dry, nauseous, with his balls all shrivelled up. Married to him.)

Why doesn't she bring it up? Isn't conversation and feelings her department? She's going to be a high school counsellor. Therapist is literally everything she's about.

Cal snoops through the Boulder High School website, having a look at the faculty and upcoming events. Then he takes a good long look at the counselling staff and some of the programmes the school runs in regards to the development of their students. It actually looks like a pretty good school (he'd be ok with sending Emily there. If it was... oh about five years ago). And their mascot is a panther, which is pretty cool. From the windows on the west side of the house, it's possible to see the Flatirons in the not so distant distance; those big table top mountains that border Boulder. Cal wonders if there are panthers there. Or mountain lions. And bears. Oh my.

The tablet comes with preinstalled games. He tries out a few, finds them frustrating. Then realises they've been sitting in silence for a really long time. He dips the tablet to look at Gillian. He's completely lost track of the time or what's on TV. She looks over at him when she senses him watching and gives a slight smile. "Ok?"

"Yep," he agrees. He's bored. And this is only going to get worse. He's going to need something to do; especially when Gillian goes to work. He's never been a stay at home anything and has no idea how he's going to cope with it. It wouldn't be as bad if he were able bodied and could go and do something, meet people, get a job himself (doing he doesn't know what; anything at this point. He's bored).

"Are you watching this?" Gillian asks after a few minutes.

Cal has been staring at the wall, daydreaming about jobs (what he might have done if he hadn't done a doctorate in lies; how what he does know about lies incorporates into an everyday job, like sales, ugh, or, as a TSA agent. Heh.) "No," he answers her.

"Wanna go to bed?" She asks it softly, carefully.

Cal meets her eyes. Does that mean bed to sleep or bed to have sex? He wonders what time it is. If it's early, she means sex. If it's late, then she probably just means going to sleep. She does have a job interview tomorrow. Ok, maybe even if it's early she means to go to sleep, because she has a job interview tomorrow. "Sure," Cal agrees (he's got nothing better to do).

Gillian gets up, hovers a little, but ultimately leaves him to get up on his own. He's glad for it, because he really is like an uncoordinated baby giraffe who has fallen on its back. He twists and manoeuvres and then has to shove his body weight up while relying on one hand; and it's really better that Gillian doesn't see that (or anyone, for that matter). When Cal finally makes his way down the short hallway to his bedroom, he notices Gillian isn't there. She might be in the bathroom across the hall though, so he works on taking his clothes off and throws back the covers and bounces himself onto the mattress. It takes effort to shift his broken leg into place. Not only is the cast heavy, but it's actually painful to put pressure on it, even if that pressure is lifting upwards, and not pressing downwards (but, he does concede, the pain is less than it was a week ago. More of a nuisance really). When he's settled, back resting up against the pillows and headboard, he's breathing heavier than normal (and he hasn't even lain down yet...).

And then Gillian comes in.

She's in a loose t-shirt and she doesn't immediately beeline across the room and run towards him, but she does approach without detour. He reaches up for her, can't help it, his hands a mind of their own and she grabs onto him as she kneels one leg on the mattress so she can swing the other over his body and straddle his thighs. She slips a condom into his left palm (so she found them when she put the groceries away then. He slipped them into the cart), the rough edges blatant against his skin, as she leans in to kiss him.

No doubt about this then.

Cal's stomach flips hard and he kisses her back carefully at first, half afraid that if he's too keen, it might scare her off. She frees her left hand from his right, pushing down on her knees so that she rises up above him (and he doesn't have to strain forward to reach her), curling that free hand around the edge of his neck and into his hair; she makes the kiss deeper. Cal feels blindly with his right hand, crushing his fingers against her side until he orientates her hip. He grabs her shirt, works his way under it to bare skin. He forgets himself, the pressure of her lips and the curl of her fingers, and brushes his palm against her waist. He forgets the cast completely until she flinches away from him. Hard.

"Sorry," he murmurs as her mouth pulls from his. He tries to follow her, doesn't want to lose contact. Gillian moves back far enough to give a brief smile and then she shifts closer again. A lot closer. She moves her body up, so she's just about in his lap. She kisses him again, her hands sliding around his neck, down the front of his bare chest. Condom in one hand, cast in the other, Cal feels a little helpless. And it's not just that his hands are full. With his leg, he can't take much control of position or pace. He takes the lead from Gillian. When she kisses, he kisses. When she breaks away, he tries to reach for as much of her as he can (jaw or neck, she does give him chances). He tries again with the fingers of his broken arm, brushing the tips against her skin, reminding himself not to grab, to not try and engage his palm which is encased in plaster. He thinks he does a better job of it than last time (there's less flinching and much more moaning. Moaning is good. He doesn't remember if there was moaning last time. He doesn't think there was, now that he thinks about it).

Gillian takes her own shirt off and it's heavenly. Her skin is smooth and soft and freckly. Cal remembers to use his fingertips as he traces around the edges of her body, exploring and memorising, feeling his way when he closes his eyes as she kisses him. He feels a bit like a gimp, holding onto the condom, but if he puts it down (or somewhere) he worries he might not find it again (and that would be embarrassing). But putting it on can be awkward too. If he does it too soon, then she might think that's all he's after. And if he leaves it too late, that might give the impression he's not really interested.

He takes his cue from Gillian. After shirt removal and more kissing, she explores his body. The first time they did this... It wasn't like this. This is more intimate and Cal actually feels more nervous, like he's not sure what he should be doing. She's the one that pulls back his underwear (turns out, she's not wearing any at all), uses her mouth on him a bit (fucking _jesus_), then takes his hand. She takes the condom back, and for a second Cal thinks she's going to do it herself, but she just opens it, gives it back to him, makes him do it. And then when he's ready she moves so she's over him. The anticipation is incredible and with his free hand he finally realises he can touch her. He smoothes up her thigh, watches her face for reaction (it's not bad) and guides her hip as she comes down gently on top of him.

If the world hadn't tipped on its axis right after the first time they'd had sex (having to leave the safe house. His world did also tip on its axis because they had sex), Cal figures he would have spent much more time thinking about it. This time, he doesn't quite remember the order of things, if Gillian sets the same rhythm and tempo as before. He remembers last time as amazing and this time just as damn good. It's more Gillian than him. He knows that. He's broken. Literally. And that constricts him. But Gillian makes it incredible. She is incredible. He _knows_ that. But this, sex, it makes him feel it more. They're closer, intimate, together, all those things and when it's over, and she moves away from him, and he can't turn to hold her tightly, that's what disappoints him the most. He doesn't just want it to be a physical thing. He wants all the intimacy that goes with sleeping with his best friend.

Because he loves her.

**PJ**

Cal wakes to an obnoxious electrical claxon. It takes a second to realise it's an alarm. It takes longer to realise where it's coming from, and by the time he's come to, Gillian is already reaching over to turn it off. Cal wonders 'what the hell' as he reaches out a hand for her. She sleeps on his right side, where all the plaster encases his limbs, but he's learning to use his finger tips, and brushes them against her bare lower back. She turns towards him, her face bleary through his sleepy eyes, but he can still tell she's barely awake herself. She comes in close, squishing his fingers against her stomach as she presses against his chest. She rests her head on the pillow next to his, her forehead against his ear. Cal closes his eyes, feels his heart rate start to settle a little and relaxes.

It's still dark, so it's early. He wonders how early. He wonders why Gillian set an alarm; it's not like they have anywhere to go. His foot is itchy. The one under the plaster. Of course it is. The foot is the worst. He can't bend his knee to bring it closer to his body. He tries wiggling his toes. He's not sure if that helps the itch, but he also pushed down on his leg so the pain distracts him for a while. It's been a week now, in plaster. One week down, five to go. It's been a long week. The next five are going to go slowly. And not just because he's in plaster. He really doesn't know what to do with himself. Stuck around the house all day. Bored out of his tree. He could build a tree house. Maybe when the weather gets a bit warmer.

Wait. Gillian _does_ have somewhere to go. Job interview. That's this morning. Cal forces his eyes open, feels the dreamy sleep falling away in sharp stages, making his brain feel tingly. He sits up a little, resting on his elbows; Gillian is gone. And the room is lighter. He looks over at the time. It's after ten.

Cal sits still for a moment, surprised. He fully went back to sleep. And he slept right through Gillian leaving. He didn't get to wish her good luck. Cal throws back the covers, manoeuvres himself out of bed, and hops it across the room to the bathroom. Then he hops down the hall to the living room, looking for his new phone. The thing is huge. He remembers when cell phones were bricks (he didn't have one though) and got progressively smaller. Then they started getting bigger again (although flatter. Size of a brick but not nearly as cumbersome). There are no messages (why would there be? no one but Gillian and the marshals have this number). Cal sits heavily on the couch, still in his underwear (pushed aside last night, not removed entirely. Too much work getting them down over his cast), and pulls up the text menu. He taps out a message to Gillian, going with 'Howd it go?' instead of a belated 'good luck' (he feels badly for missing it though). He can't remember what time the interview was. Nine, he thinks. So it might be over by now. Who has an interview for more than an hour?

There's no immediate response so Cal puts his phone down again. Then he picks it up and checks that the volume is up on the messages (because he hasn't actually checked before now). It is. He plays with the ringtones, wastes time. When he's getting dressed a message comes through. It's from Gillian: _good. Be home soon._ There are smiley emoticons. Cal figures she's pretty happy about it (the interview? Or that he text her?). She doesn't tend to send emoticons otherwise. He's not sure they've gone much beyond polite business texts. Occasional friendly texts but... that was before they started sleeping together.

Soon means half an hour. And Cal is getting antsy about it. She said soon. She should have said half an hour if she was going to be half an hour. He gets up to stand in the window and watch the street. He spots their neighbours across the road taking groceries out of the back of an SUV, remembers they brought food over. Maybe he should go say thanks. Make friends. See what their deal is. It's something to do.

It'd just be something to _do_.

But Gillian pulls into their driveway and Cal watches her from the window instead. She looks nice. Dress, shoes, hair and make-up done. She looks like the classy, attractive woman he remembers from DC. Not the fire scarred, damaged woman coughing up blood. Hard to believe that that was only a handful of days ago. It feels like so much longer. When Gillian heads for the front door (she's got shopping bags in her hand. So she went shopping. She could have just said she was going shopping, instead of making him wait) Cal hops his way back to the couch. He picks up the tablet, pretends to be engrossed in one of the games preloaded (he doesn't get the game though. Can't figure out how to make the little character leap far enough over that pit and not impale itself).

"Hi," Gillian greets brightly from the door.

"Hey," Cal answers distractedly. Purposefully nonchalant. He hears the rustle of plastic coming closer, the pointed thud of her heels on the carpet.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Cal drops the tablet to his lap so she can't see the screen over his shoulder. He looks up at her, catches a flicker of something (disappointment maybe?) before she gives him a smile. Damn, she really does look good. Excitement makes Gillian attractive; that bright easiness about her. He feels it drawing him in and it makes him want to hug her, get physically closer to her, kiss it out of her so he can have some.

"Are you hungry?" She raises the plastic bag. "I brought lunch."

Cal blinks for a second. "It's not even eleven," he answers (actually, by now, it might be).

"So?" Gillian smiles again and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen.

Cal shifts his ass to the edge of the couch and shoves himself up using the arm of the furniture. He hops a few paces, looks around for his crutches. He swears they move of their own accord (he can't see them). He hops the short distance to the wall, makes the mistake of putting is broken leg down. He almost cries out in pain.

"Did you have breakfast this morning?" Gillian calls from the kitchen.

So she's keeping tabs on him now? He's allowed to not eat if he doesn't want to. He doesn't answer her. He hops a few more steps to the door and almost runs into Gillian. "Oh," she gives him a smile. "Thought you might want these," she gives him the crutches. Cal almost scowls. Yeah, he feels like a petulant child. A frustrated child who's being mothered (he doesn't like it when any woman tries to do that. Didn't like it even when it was Zoe.) He doesn't want her to. Not when they're... sort of together... and it's not meant to be that way. He's meant to be looking after her because that's what... really? That was it? He was pissed off because he couldn't look after her? (Like a man is supposed to?)

Gillian doesn't hover to watch him awkwardly make his way into the other room. He's still annoyed (annoyed with himself _and_ the situation) so when he comes in, she takes one look at his face and turns away abruptly, avoids his eye while she finishes setting out their meal. Cal makes his way to the breakfast bar. The stools are the right height for him, so he doesn't have to leap up or drop down, he can just slide over and sit, his broken leg not cramped under a table. He puts the crutches to the side. Gillian sets tea down in front of him. Tea. Not a soft drink (like she has), or juice, or a milkshake even. She knows him.

The silence is heavy and Cal knows it's all him. He wants to tell her he's sorry. It's not her. It's him. (And that he can't seem to help it.) But he doesn't, can't, doesn't know the words. Hasn't done it before. Isn't so sure a simple 'sorry' is really going to cut it. Sorry is for accidentally standing on someone's toes. Proper apologies require more than that. And Gillian deserves the best.

(If she deserves the best, then why does he continue to act like a jerk towards her?)

So Cal moves on to at least starting a conversation. Any conversation at all. This time, he had a really good one. "So it went all right then?" He looks up to meet her eye as she's wiping her hands, finished with meal preparation. Her face is neutral as she thinks about the question, then gives a slight node and confirms that it did. She moves around him to sit on his left side. On Cal's plate is a toasted club sandwich and fries. It smells really good though and he can see the egg yolk is oozing, like it's still hot and the cheese has melted a little. When he picks up a chip, it's hot enough in his mouth to make him a little cautious.

Gillian essentially killed his conversation, he realises. She does that, he thinks, when she's mad at him (not in a sulking child kind of way. She just goes quiet, like she can't be bothered with him. Which might be entirely fair enough. He's more likely to sulk like a child). Not just this week gone, but before then too. Since last year, when he first met Wallowski (and that whole thing happened), she's been quieter, less cheerful, stringent with a smile. He's just starting to think that might have been his fault. She didn't abruptly change after she left Alec.

He really is a jerk bag.

Cal has to pick up his sandwich with his left hand. He worries about getting the cast dirty (and stale egg and cheese tucked in against his skin and the plaster sounds horrendous already). He takes a bite and it's good. It's a toasted club sandwich, but it's still really good. Bacon and aioli and all the naughty things, like cheese and butter. Gillian's having a Panini, which she manages to eat delicately (Cal watches out of the corner of his eye). "This is really good," Cal tries when he swallows. He turns his head a little to actually see her face and her eyes slide over to his, but they're not completely dead anymore. She gives him a slight smile around her mouthful and swallows it down quickly to answer him.

"Thought we might try some local cuisine."

"This is local?"

"Yeah," Gillian tells him.

Well it would have to be for her to get the food here and it still actually be hot.

"It's good," Cal repeats.

Gillian smiles again, takes another polite bite of her Panini.

"I didn't have breakfast," Cal adds, finally answering her. Gillian doesn't respond.


	8. Chapter 8

The day after the interview (which she doesn't elaborate on, and Cal doesn't ask again), Gillian goes over to the neighbours'. She takes back their casserole dish and Cal watches from the window (he refused to go. Yeah it's a shocker) as she knocks on the door and is welcomed in (he feels like he should have binoculars and a notebook). She's gone nearly an hour and when she comes back she reports on what she found out (like she's still working for the Group). Mary-Anne and Steven. Fifties. Homemaker and web designer. Two teenagers; boy and girl; both at Boulder High (where Gillian's starting work on Monday); sophomore and a senior. Cal barely musters enough of a response (he figures they're not going to be there long, so why should he even care to get to know them?) and after talking for a while and getting minimal interest from him, Gillian gives it up (she can't be bothered pushing shit up hill).

They spend long hours sitting around. There is less TV watching and more internet trawling. Cal's so tempted, so, so, so tempted, to check up on the Group through the website (or worse, log in and literally check up on them through the cameras). He Google satellites his house (still standing) and Emily's dorm (doesn't spot her walking around...) and then sets up a new email account, adding the addresses he remembers (Emily's and Gillian's. Too much reliance on technology); he'll probably never end up using it (if they're going home soon, he can just go back to using his old one. Which has probably overflowed with messages by now. Gillian probably isn't even going to use her old account anyway, but that is the one he knows).

On the third day, the sun comes out brightly and Gillian suggests getting out of the house. Cal is reluctant (the idea of walking around tires his body before he even attempts it) but she seamlessly suggests a drive (not a walk), around the neighbourhood, to at least see where they live now. Cal agrees to that (because she has this optimistic expression on her face that he doesn't much relish destroying). But he doesn't like it (he doesn't want to get to know the neighbourhood. He just wants to go home). What would be great is if Gillian suggested talking about the case (because they still haven't done that) and Cal's not ever sure of when is the right time to bring it up. When it's on his mind, there seems to be something else going on with them or with Gillian (and he does at leave have the good sense to know when a bad time is).

They drive around the streets of their neighbourhood and look at the houses (Cal stares out the window, but he's not really looking. He doesn't care much and Gillian only breaks the silence intermittently), then they venture further, making bigger turns to get further away from their house, then end up taking the path up the Flatirons. The view is impressive and the weather is so nice and Cal does grudgingly admit to himself that it is good to be outside; to be doing something different. Sun, slight breeze, fresh air, the way Gillian stands close (far too close. Not complaining).

Binoculars would have been good.

As they stand and look out over the city of Boulder, Gillian rests her head on his shoulder. It's not easy to do, seeing as he's not actually standing at his real height (but at least he's not leaning over his crutches. That would have been quite comical), but she does it anyway and after a moment he works up the courage and reaches for her fingers (because he feels her hand knocking against his cast and hand a few times and think it might be a hint). He brushes her thigh before he contacts skin (not complaining about that either), hooking the digits of his broken hand around hers awkwardly. She readjusts, smoothing slender fingers against his until they fit together better. And it's nice. Really nice. They're standing together holding hands in the sunshine.

Cal starts thinking about them but there isn't much to say really, when he gets down to it. They were friends (are friends. They _are_ friends). There might have been... something sort of developing before all of this. Now they are married (sort of/kind of/maybe) and sleeping together (sort of/kind of/maybe). But there is not much else. No dating or flirting or falling in love.

Gillian. Falling in love.

Cal is already in love with her. He thinks. No, he knows. He is. He used to think if he slept with her he'd get over it, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe it's too soon to tell, but so far, he's not over her; he wants more (but doesn't know how to ask for it). But he's also scared that she doesn't feel the same way and right now she gives mixed messages (mostly indifferent, uninterested kind of messages). There's hand holding and sleeping together in the same bed and then there's the _sleeping_ together bit. But she doesn't talk about a relationship or what's happened or... how he makes her feel or anything like that. He's half afraid to say something in case it's too much pressure (how awkward would it be if it were too much too soon and he ruined it? What with them living together and having nowhere else to go). And he's certainly scared she's going to stop (that she might one day, just get over it; over him). It's complicated and he's making it complicated because Gillian's making it complicated and he doesn't know what to do.

When they go home, they have sex. Gillian instigates it and then she cooks him dinner.

**PJ**

Gillian sets the alarm on her phone for 5.30am the following morning. She had good intentions to wake progressively earlier for a few days to get used to going from waking after ten to before seven. But that didn't quite happen. She set the alarm. The alarm woke her. She rolled over to turn it off and just went back to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be painful. But it's going to shock her system into a new routine. And there's not much else she can do about that now. Gillian puts her phone on the bedside table and turns over to face Cal. He's shuffling his way under the covers, little sections at a time, not too much pressure on his breaks as he goes. It would be comical if she didn't know how frustrated he was by it (_a lot_ of bitching). The other day he announced it was one week down, five to go (it feels like it's going to be a long five weeks to go).

Gillian waits for Cal to settle and they lie together for a moment in the light from Cal's bedside lamp. The last handful of days have been an odd limbo. Really, in a new house, there isn't very much to do now that they've unpacked. There's no cleaning (they don't even have enough dirty clothes at this point to do a load of laundry) or yard work. They haven't even spent enough time with the furniture to think it might work better in a different arrangement in the room. Dragging Cal out of the house is tedious and effortful, and yet sitting around does nothing for her (and she's never been one to have something to do with every second of her day). Like Cal, Gillian spends time on the internet, but that only goes so far as well. While she's nervous about starting a new job, she's also grateful to be able to get out of the house and do something (especially because it means she can get on with her life as it now stands).

Cal turns his head on the pillow to look at her.

And then there's Cal. Aside from the grumpiness (and the bitching, which at times, has really gotten on her nerves, despite her best efforts to give him a break), she's kind of liked the undivided time with him (usually he's run off to look into something). Of course, there's also the making out bit, which is really quite nice. And the sex. Which is not mind-blowing (nope, still not). But it's not _bad_ (if it were, she wouldn't really be enticed to go back for more). And she thinks about it quite a bit. At the end of the day, it's Cal and she does like him and she has, before now, thought about more. She's attracted to him. He's a good kisser. She likes his body. She _likes_ him. She can't help but think they just have to practice to get better at it. It's awkward with his broken arm and leg. She can excuse it a million ways to Sunday. The truth is, if she didn't want to, then she wouldn't. And that's all there is to it.

"Want the light out?" Cal asks.

"Sure," Gillian agrees and then shoves herself up to lean over him to put it out herself (without him having to ask). She's not shy at all about leaning all over him (she's given up wearing much clothing to bed, now that she's better, so there isn't really much between them). She feels his hand at the back of her thigh, brushing briefly before resting lightly on her assn (she's kind of proud of him). She pushes into the touch, makes it more obvious so he's really grabbing a handful (he is still, even after six days, cautious). She puts the light out and pulls back, guesses where his head is and plants a kiss. She thinks she gets his temple and he gives a little huff of a laugh that makes her smile. He uses both hands to frame her waist and Gillian uses a hand to find his mouth. She presses her lips against is (can feel him still smiling) in a sloppy chaste kiss (that gets more of his cheek really), then settles her weight against the mattress, so she's still leaning over him (but her back isn't stressed), and tries again. She really does like kissing him. He's warm and thorough (when _she_ initiates making the kiss a little more heated) and it makes her feel tingly inside (it's just a shame that she doesn't _get there_, when they take it further. And to be fair, she can't blame that on him. Not all of it).

Cal doesn't take it further and neither does Gillian (she does have an early start tomorrow). She eases off the kiss and moves to lie next to him. It sounds like he sighs a little. "Good night," Gillian offers.

"Night," Cal repeats.

Then it feels like Gillian lies awake for hours. When she does drift off, she feels Cal shifting around, that see-saw of his weight to stop his ass from getting numb, that keeps her in a shallow restlessness. And of course, just as she actually gets into a deep sleep, her alarm goes off. With a groan she moves to turn it off, her head pounding in time with her heart (she hopes that isn't going to be an all day thing). Cal gives a grumble from his side of the bed after Gillian shuts the noise off. Like last time she set the alert, Gillian moves in against him, resting her head on his pillow right next to his face. She figures he's not really awake and closes her eyes to steal a few more minutes while he's still unconscious. He's nice when he's like this.

**PJ**

Cal's not sure what the hell is going on. It feels like de ja vu in a dream. That electrical ringing that cuts through his sleep, he's heard it before. And the weight of Gillian at his shoulder is like last time too. He settles his head so it's resting against hers, something in his heart that's excited and relaxed at the same time. It feels good, being with her like this; the darkness is silent and still. They lie together for a moment (could be minutes or more, Cal's not sure. It's dark and he doesn't really know what time it is, let alone which day; or why Gillian set an alarm. To get up?). Gillian stirs at his shoulder, like she can follow his train of thoughts. He feels her push herself up, remembers that she's practically naked (tank top and underwear only these days) and opens his eyes a little. But it's dark and he can't see anything except a vague outline of her body. He can't even see if the blanket has slipped away from her chest.

"Go back to sleep," Gillian murmurs and starts to move away.

Cal grabs her arm, jamming the cast against her bone. She winces and he's apologetic, withdrawing again. "Don't go yet," he croaks.

"I gotta get up and shower," she sighs.

"Just," Cal tries. He needs to think faster. "One more minute."

Lame.

But Gillian settles. He remembers now that she's starting her new job, and he's not going to see her all day. A long day (it's going to be a _long_ day on his own). Last time she snuck out and he missed having the morning with her (she actually tends to sneak out of bed before him most mornings, but at least when he gets up himself, she's there waiting for him). She settles in a slightly different position and as Cal turns his head to... check on her? (find that sweet spot he had a moment ago) he finds his nose brushes against hers. She gives a hum and it stirs something inside him. He re-angles his jaw, moving in to where he thinks her mouth might be. He's not far off and she shifts to align their lips. It's sweet but when Gillian pulls away a little, Cal follows her. She makes it deeper though, braving it past his lips. Her hands are on his body, smoothing, tracing, torching, teasing. He's awake now. He brings his left hand to her jaw, cups the bone, moves her head where he wants it; feels a little in control. But the hand beneath the covers undoes him and he feels that desperate tug inside him that wants him to get his leg over. He literally can't. He's at Gillian's mercy. And she reads him so well. Just as he's starting to think he's going to have to ask her (he can't make her, can't physically suggest anything), she pulls abruptly away from him.  
>"Wait," he gruffs, grasping at air.<p>

She's already half way across the room. "Just a second," she tells him, opening the door. The street light silhouettes the hallway, and Cal can see the silvery figure of Gillian going across the way. He shifts, pushing himself to a sitting position, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain from his broken arm as he puts pressure on it. This is already his least favourite position, him sitting and Gillian straddling his hips, but it's pretty much all he's got. He wonders if they could try other positions, if he could even... but just thinking of the logistics of his broken leg and two bodies...

Gillian's back, and she leaves the door open, so that the light makes the room just that little bit easier to see. To at least see her. Cal flicks back the covers, invites her, and she complies. She crashes her mouth against his and Cal goes for it and wraps his broken arm at her back, tugging her in close (hoping the long expanse of the plaster will hurt less than the rounded edges of it). Gillian goes with the movement, her other hand going back to teasing him exploringly. There are no awkward pauses. They kind of know what they're doing now; now that they've had the practice.

Cal feels the sharp edge of the condom packet poke against his wrist, turns his hand to take it from her fingers, and Gillian waits while he puts it on himself, her body still bent over his (so he's knocking knuckles against her pelvis as he works and she watches). It feels so much more fluid though, the two of them, like they've done this before (well, they have) and know each other (starting to at least get familiar). Gillian makes noises in her throat. Dirty, hot, moaning kind of noises, which just makes Cal feel more excited. He pushes up with his hips, the pressure down on his legs, and winces against the pain. Gillian stops immediately (much to Cal's frustration). "What?" She whispers. "Did I?"

"No you, me," Cal mutters. He brings a hand to her hip, encourages her to move again, his blood pounding. "Go."

He's not doing that again. Two reasons. The first: it hurts. The second: Gillian stops.

Gillian does go again. Cal gets braver with his left hand, smoothing up her body (loves the way her muscles feel working under her skin, on top of him), brushes a thumb over her breast. Gillian arches into his touch and Cal feels emboldened. He tries it with his right hand too; so long as he sticks to his fingertips only, she doesn't complain. He gets a moan for his efforts, definitely feels as though he's getting the hang of this; the feel of her. He tugs her shirt up, but she has to help him take it off her. Gillian drops her head, bites at his neck; she's getting the hang of him too. He grins into her ear, tries a few nips at hers, checking for a reaction. He gets a good one (she gives up on his neck to let him), so he takes her lobe between his teeth (not easy when her whole body is moving). He brings up his left hand to her head, holds her in place, tries again, teases with his tongue. His reward? She rides him harder.

She knocks his hand loose so he switches to holding on. He attempts another push of his hips (it's early morning, he's still slow) and it hurts just as badly as last time. But it makes Gillian lean forward into his chest and the change in angle takes him to the brink. Noises appear in his own throat and Gillian matches them, her breath huffing against his skin. It feels like they're there together so he lets go, his body in a violent shudder that feels nothing but ecstatic.

Cal feels Gillian drop to the bed next to him. He shifts his arm out of her way and again tries to turn over to cuddle her. He struggles for a second with it, then gives up. Because she's naked, there's nothing really to grip and tug on and it's an awkward angle. In half a minute she's pushing herself up and away from him, murmuring something about having to get ready. Yeah he gets that she has somewhere to go this morning; first day of a new job and all that. But he is a little thrown off, or put out, or unsettled by the fact that she can just get up and go. Unless sex in the morning really sets her up for the day. It makes him feel warm and a little sentimental (wouldn't mind that cuddle; wouldn't mind if Gillian wanted it too. She hasn't initiated so far).

Hang on.

Cal shoots out his right arm, crashing his fingers into her upper arm before she can move too far away from him. She turns her head, surprised, to meet his eyes and frowns. Cal has a sinking feeling in his stomach before the words even spill out of his mouth. "Did you?" He says with an implied tone.

Gillian is like a deer in the headlights. She knows exactly what he's asking (she even blushes a little, though he doesn't see, because it's still dark). Her lips part slightly (he doesn't see that either, those little details, but he senses her hesitation), and no words come out. He thinks about it for a second. The handful of times they've been together. He wasn't really expecting... dramatics, but usually he gets a least some kind of compliment, some indication that a woman had a good time with him; it's usually obvious.

And there has been a distinct lack of it with Gillian.

"You didn't come at all did you?" Cal accuses.

Gillian tugs her arm free and gets out of bed.

"Gill?" Cal sits himself up, pushing down on his broken arm too harshly, making sharp slivers of pain shoot to his elbow. "Tell me."

"Cal," she tries, her tone full of warning and impatience. "I need to go shower." She's pulling on a shirt and already walking around the door. It doesn't matter. He doesn't need her to say the words. He doesn't even need to see her face to know: she didn't.

She didn't.

He fucked it. And not in a good way.

Gillian escapes the room, leaving the door open (which Cal totally takes as a goddamn invitation) and he can hear the soft thuds of her feet as she goes stairs. That's mean, going upstairs; she knows he can't follow her. Easily. But damnit if he's going to let her get away with not talking about this, explaining herself, explaining what happened (and where he went wrong). He doesn't want to be arrogant, but he's not had a complaint before.

Or maybe that's the point. It's just that no one's complained?

Nah, he can tell. He can always tell when it's faked (deception expert, remember?), and he can usually tell when a woman he's with might need... a little... extra to get there. But he's pretty sure he's never not noticed when it doesn't happen. Which means he just wasn't paying attention this time. And that might even be worse.

(Oh god. _Every_ time?)

Cal hooks himself out of bed, his foot landing in something soft on the carpet. He picks it up with his toes until he can reach with his hand and tosses it to the bed. He hops the short distance to the dresser, finds a shirt in the second drawer down, has to lean a hip against the furniture to put it on. If he listens carefully he can hear the water running upstairs (at least she didn't lie about the shower bit. It wasn't just to avoid him. Probably should shower if she's going to work). When he stands still, not only can he hear the water, he can feel the devastation in his chest; he's shocked and appalled.

When he's dressed, he works his way across the room, down the hall, leaning on the wall, stepping on his broken leg (winching because it fricking _hurts_) and finds his crutches in the living room. Then he looks up at the stairs. There's a streetlight situated to light up parts of the house and he can see enough to know its daunting (and he probably shouldn't try to even entertain going up in the dark). He could always wait for her to come down again; she's going to have to eventually. He wonders what the time is now, and how much of it he can waste on a conversation she's obviously reluctant to have; there will be time wasted on just the argument of discussion in the first place. Might be better to get started as soon as possible. Because she _is _leaving the house at some point and he's in no position to stop her.

What he doesn't get, as he leans on the crutches and grabs the banister, moving his left foot up first, is why she didn't say something, or tell him, or just... make it obvious for him... after the first time.

Why didn't she say?

**PJ**

It didn't quite bother her until this morning. There have been times in her life when sex wasn't the mind blowing experience she knew it could be (and then there were times when it really was). Sometimes it took a while for a couple to get to know each other, figure out what made them tick. And she likes Cal, she really does; she's attracted to him in physical and non-physical ways. It's the non that drives her to him, and then when their bodies come together it's all the physical aspects. It just doesn't seem to culminate in... that mind blowing bit. Admittedly, she hasn't been trying to work out why (no long thoughtful internal discussions), was kind of just going with it (maybe trying to be a bit more flexible, seeing as her entire life has turned upside down and if she dwells on it, she's going to start falling apart). She had faith that they were going to figure it out. Or that it was just going to fall into place.

She didn't see Cal's face clearly downstairs a moment ago, when he asked, when he finally brought it up, but she absolutely could tell, without a doubt, that he was hurt (and maybe surprised too, like he has literally only just noticed). Which just makes her feel worse about it. And now that attention has been called to the fact that she hasn't had an orgasm (and if she counts the months before she even started sleeping with Cal, it's been _too_ long), her body is craving it. It's tingly and weak and she's thinking about having a go herself under the warm water (if she rushes through washing her hair, because screwing around with Cal this morning has put her behind schedule). Keeps thinking about it. Keeps thinking about Cal. Keeps thinking about...

"Gillian."

She jumps, her heart pounding with the fright, the shampoo bottle leaping out of her hand to clatter against the wall and drop at her feet, knocking painfully into her ankle as it skirts around and then settles by the plug hole. She puts a hand out instinctively to steady herself against the shower wall. "Cal!" She admonishes. "You gave me a fright." Hand on heart for added effect.

At the edge of the curtain, Cal's head is watching her (his eyes are all over her, to be honest and there's something in his expression that makes heat flood low in her stomach. She almost reaches for him, but his eyes come back to hers and the moment passes). "We should talk," he says and he does not look happy at all (actually, he also looks a little flushed).

"I don't really have time right now," Gillian tries. She wants to get on with her shower, but is self-conscious enough with him watching her while she's naked without also bending over to retrieve the shampoo.

"Too bad," Cal grumps and disappears. Gillian hears the toilet lid bang and is horrified to think he would actually go while she was in the room. She pulls back the curtain a little to look (not _look_ look, but just to see if her suspicions are true), but Cal is simply lowering himself to sit on the closed lid (all awkward with his broken leg. How did he even get up the stairs?)

Gillian stands under the water, silent while she thinks. She really doesn't know what to say about it. It just didn't happen and... she likes him enough for that to not be a deterrent. Maybe she should tell him that? But would it be tipping her hand? Because when it comes to Cal she just feels so reluctant to give him any kind of signal that any of it means something to her when he doesn't give her much of an indication of the same (and she really doesn't want to be pouring her heart out only to be rejected. On a normal day, that would be bad enough, but now that they're trapped here together...). Cal doesn't look like he wants to talk about it (but he did follow her up here, with all the effort that must have taken) and he's not exactly leading the conversation now. Gillian bends for the shampoo bottle (wonders if he can see her through the curtain) and works shampoo into her hair while she waits. If he wants to talk about it, then he can start.

"So you haven't... this whole time?"

He sounds small. And it's disarming (there's a part of her that wants to comfort and make it better for him).

Gillian's just working up the courage to admit she hasn't when Cal goes on. "How come you didn't say?"

She doesn't think, she just speaks: "How come you didn't notice?"

Touché. But she doesn't feel great about it, because really, how come he didn't notice? Is he _that_ self-absorbed?

Silence.

Gillian rinses the shampoo out.

"I guess that's fair enough," Cal's voice comes over the water, just loud enough to be heard but not overly voluminous; he's not happy. It makes Gillian feel bad; his words. She didn't really mean to throw that at him (but now she's really thinking about it. Is he that self-absorbed and she's never noticed?)

"It doesn't matter," she tries.

"Kind of does Gillian," Cal counters.

"It's not your problem," Gillian adds, seriously trying to let him off the hook for this (she is a fan of taking responsibility for her actions. She didn't say anything. And besides that, it takes two to tango).

"Kind of is," Cal repeats.

Gillian puts conditioner in her hair. She does feel better for being able to go to the supermarket and get the brand she actually likes. It smells familiar; reminds her of being at home. Her stomach is nervous with this new job. It's not that she thinks she can't do it; just fear of the unknown. Like everyone else.

"It's my," Gillian starts to raise her voice over the water but Cal cuts her off.

"Kind of got a reputation to uphold," comes back immediately, like he didn't hear her starting to speak.

It actually makes Gillian smile.

And then she frowns because there might have been the possibility that he might actually care about her (her experience, how she feels), but now it sounds like he's just worried about himself. Which, she she's trying not to convince herself, was half the problem. But she has a tough time with that kind of logic; the evidence just doesn't point to it (the other women...) At the moment, he's a little disadvantaged (and she figures not really up to his usual standard), and so goes back to: considering she was (is) doing most of the work, it wouldn't be unreasonable to suggest that it was (is), in fact, _she_ who was (is) doing a poor job. Gillian folds her arms in front of her abdomen, faces towards him, the shower curtain between them (she can't see him, so maybe he can't see her).

"Just forget about it," Gillian suggests, because she doesn't much want to have this conversation anymore than he clearly does (and she's really not sure which argument she's leaning towards, or should be listening to).

There's a beat and then Cal comes back with: "I'm not going to."

But he doesn't elaborate and despite a spike of reaction in her stomach, Gillian doesn't know what else to say (she doesn't need this right now). They've been sleeping together; she hasn't had an orgasm. Not the first time it's happened to her. What else is there to add? Gillian rinses the conditioner from her hair and turns the water off. She hears the creak of the toilet lid as Cal shifts his weight and she grabs for her towel with the curtain still closed. She dries off a little, wraps the cloth around her body and then steps out. Cal is still there, waiting, almost expectant (like he wants her to solve this, like she knows how); his eyes meeting hers (he's not ashamed then).

Gillian moves to the bedroom. She sees the time, finishes drying herself off quickly and is pulling on underwear as Cal comes in (which makes her rush). He's moving slowly (slower than usual, even with the crutches), affords her a once over (he's subtle though), before going to the bed and throwing himself down heavily. Gillian glances over at him and sees his eyes closed. She wonders if he's started sleeping properly yet, because if he hasn't, she woke him up probably before he got any decent sleep last night (and if they want to talk about not noticing, then she could be just as guilty as he is).

She goes to the wardrobe and pulls out the shirt she pre-determined she would wear today. She slips into a grey skirt and gets out the sensible dark heels (misses her Louboutins. Like crazy) that will go with the outfit. Cal doesn't say anything as she dresses, she doesn't know if he watches her (she doesn't check. Not sure if she wants him to or doesn't. Doesn't know how to think or feel about any of this; just needs to get through this day: her first day of a new job). She plugs her hair dryer in and stands in front of the full length mirror. The white noise drowns out any conversation either of them might have attempted and Gillian relaxes a little as she manages to forget about him. She needs a watch, she muses to herself, as she brushes and dries her hair as straight as she can manage it.

When she switches the device off again, the silence is deafening.

**PJ**

Cal's just working up the courage to speak when Gillian turns off the hair dryer but she leaves the room, so he waits for her to come back (though he's not confident that she will). He hears her in the bathroom, finishing her hair probably and doing her make-up. He closes his eyes while he waits (pictures her the way she used to be, not the way he's gotten used to since the incident) and figures he fell asleep when Gillian came back for her shoes (or, she just went downstairs and left him there). He doesn't know if she tried to talk to him or not (figures not) because he doesn't see her again until that evening. He sleeps on her bed for several hours and wakes disorientated and groggy and uncomfortable. He limps his way downstairs (which is a lot scarier than going up), feeds himself and then wastes the day away waiting for her get home (feeling stupid and inadequate. Can't even have a conversation with her, let alone make her orgasm...). When she does come home, they act like nothing has happened. Which at first, Cal doesn't mind too much, seeing as he doesn't know what to say to her anyway. She doesn't seem interested in an apology, even though he really does feel bad about the fact that she hasn't... since they've been sleeping together (and he doesn't care what she tries to say about it, he does feel responsible. He's been selfish.)

(And, to be fair, he doesn't actually attempt to say the words 'I'm sorry'.)

Gillian cooks dinner (which they eat with very little conversation beyond 'how was your first day?' 'Good thank you') and they watch TV. News and then sitcoms and the more Cal sits there (slouches) the more the question goes around and around and around his mind until he starts working up the courage to ask her, to initiate that conversation they're not having and it blurts out of his mouth, "Why did you keep coming back if you weren't enjoying it?"

Gillian seems to pause for a second and then she slowly looks over at him, a slight aversion of her eyes that tells him there's some shame in there and he can't even fathom why she would feel that way. (She's never had good sex? As in, she's never... He can't believe that. Flat our refuses to.) (Or maybe she had some weird... notion... that she had to? Like she was obliged... Or that... He doesn't know.)

"I thought it would get better," Gillian says quietly after she mutes the television and that feels like a sucker punch.

This time, Cal looks away, because that's statement enough: _I thought it would get better_. I thought _you_ would get better. I didn't think you'd be so lousy in bed.

At least she didn't say 'I felt sorry for you'. Because that really would be the lowest.

"Sorry," Cal murmurs.

"Me too," Gillian echoes and Cal does feel worse. So she regrets it. That's... That's probably worse. Yep. Worse. Definitely. But, not something that didn't fleetingly cross his mind once (before he tried to deny that he had even thought it). Which was one of the reasons he's never told her (and probably never will) that he loves her.

They're both staring at the muted television and not saying anything. Cal feels a strange sensation in his chest that seems familiar but he can't place it. He knows that what he's hearing is something he never wanted to hear but he has no idea where to go next, because he asked the question. And he got his answer. They're kind of trapped there together and really, they shouldn't have done this in the first place. Should have just kept it platonic; simple. Not that he was hoping to start something when he kissed her. He just felt... compelled, like it was a good opportunity (but apparently not the best one). Maybe he's gone about it all wrong. He always figured Gillian was the kind of woman to be dated, not the kind of woman to fall into bed with. Even though she was in his bed at the time.

He's screwed it up completely.

And he's an idiot.

He's so completely off balance with himself, that he doesn't even raise his voice and be obnoxious and try to intimidate her to make himself feel better. What has always made him feel better with Gillian is when she's soft and caring. She's been his almost perfect opposite but maybe that's the problem. Maybe they're just too different, just so completely unsuited that he's been kidding himself all along. He should stop loving her (would be easier if they weren't living together) but she puts her hand on his upper arm (because almost his entire body on the right side is in plaster and unless she was going to touch him in rude places, she doesn't have many options) and gives it a gentle squeeze while telling him she's going to go to bed (even though its early). It makes his stomach feel weird. And he wants to say 'ok I'll come too'.

But that's the problem, isn't it?

Gillian sleeps upstairs and that is a sufficient statement. Cal feels miserable about that enough to stay where he is on the couch, watching crappy movies until the early hours of the morning and he falls asleep where he is. So on the second day, Gillian's well gone to work by the time Cal comes around an hour before midday. He didn't even hear her in the kitchen, even though it's just the next room over (which means he was completely out of it, or she was being incredibly quiet, or maybe she just didn't make coffee or eat breakfast at all). He wakes on the couch, disorientated and groggy and uncomfortable, with his neck bent over and holding too much tension in his broken leg. Cal gets himself cereal (finds Gillian's breakfast dishes) and goes back to the couch. He catches the end of morning television (disgustingly chipper personalities). And then he is bored.

When Gillian gets home that evening (he's actually bloody excited because it's someone to talk to, something to do, he can step outside of his mind for a moment, because he's had nothing to do all day but think, about them and this situation and the explosion and it goes around and around), she looks tired. He asks her again how her day was and she gives another of her noncommittal answers. So Cal tries probing a little deeper ('you settling in all right?' 'Yes'), but even though she doesn't ignore him, she is shut off and he's rarely seen her like this: closed to him. Sometimes she's mad, and sometimes she's quiet, but she's never been so... unreachable. He's not entirely sure it's because of the sex thing (he thinks she's been like this in some way or another, well at least since the explosion, but possibly before. He hates to admit it, but he might not have been paying close enough attention. And this, the woman he considers his best friend. The woman he apparently loves). He knows there's only the two of them (except he's wrong. She's out in the big wide world now, with new work colleagues and he never envisioned a time when they wouldn't be working with each other anymore. If he did, it was because of a falling out. Not like this), but that doesn't mean she can't find someone else. Someone, who will give her more. Which honestly scares him enough to take action, but he doesn't know what to do exactly.

Gillian cooks. They eat. Gillian does the dishes. Cal tries to help, but she politely (and with a smile) shoos him away (he _can_ do the dishes, it will just take some time) so he leaves, annoyed, to sit on the couch. It's been two weeks now, and he is officially sick of television. Which leaves him the internet. He's trawling through pages on the tablet when Gillian joins him. She puts the TV on and watches the news (Cal does keep half an eye on that). He gets an idea (and curiosity has never been subtle on him). He searches for the explosion that put them there. He finds news websites, goes back through archives to the right days. There are stories about the house in the suburbs, the intense explosion. It's not hidden that it was a meth lab, or that people died in it; three (Cal wasn't actually aware there were other people in the house aside from them).

Three deaths.

That could include them. The online news articles don't name names. Cal supposes even if he checks records of deaths or perhaps even the obituaries, their names wouldn't appear either. Unless the marshals wanted everyone to know they were dead. But that wasn't always the case with witness protection. And besides, neighbours saw them being loaded into ambulances (he was obviously alive, because he was trying to watch what was going on with Gillian's rescue). Police were on the scene as well. That makes too many witnesses to keep quiet about the number of bodies. And they were treated in hospitals. That's even more people who know they survived it. The articles don't mention anyone being taken into protective custody, but it does talk about witnesses and Cal's not sure if that means himself and Gillian, or the neighbours who lived on that street who had 'no idea someone had set up a meth lab in number forty-two'.

Cal reads tens of articles (one in each of the major local papers, it barely makes a dent in regional, certainly not national) and then hits the end of the information. He looks up ownership of the house, refreshes his memory, but this is not new knowledge. He starts saving information in a file, and before he realises what he's really doing, he's managed to start an investigation of sorts. With Gillian sitting right next to him on the couch no less (at least she didn't go sit in the arm chair, because that would have been one more indication she was avoiding him. Hard to do when they are in each other's pockets. He can't believe they were, up until two days ago, having sex. And he can't help feel as though he might have blown it _completely_. He's not sure what to do about it, he definitely doesn't want it to be like this, long silences and indifference, but he's not good at relationships, has admitted that before; they scare him. And yet with Gillian it's probably been inevitable. She's not a love-them-and-leave-them kind of woman. So maybe he should have thought this through a lot better before he kissed her that night. It felt like they were getting closer. And it was safe in the dark. But that still leaves him with 'what now?' and for now, he's avoiding it).

Gillian goes to bed early. She goes alone and she goes upstairs (that is strike one of avoidance. Conversation makes two. If she starts eating alone it would be three. And not being in the room with him would make four. Four strikes is definitely beyond failure). Cal takes himself to bed too (he's not watching the television) and carries the tablet with him (which is really bloody awkward with crutches and a broken leg). He doesn't know how to lock the file he's created and he thinks setting a password onto the tablet itself will only cause Gillian suspicion (it's not his. It's theirs). So he renames it something innocuous, puts a lot of crap at the start of it and a few photos, so if Gillian does open it, she's not going to find much, unless she scrolls all the way through to the bottom (and he doesn't think she'll be that nosey. She's had opportunity enough over the years, and he's never found her to be overly invasive; trusting).

Cal notes down what he remembers about the case from before the shit it the fan (like he tried to do before Gillian came back from the hospital. But this time, he doesn't have to suffer through is poor handwriting, just the tedious tapping of his index finger; no touch typing for him). He figures any kind of investigation would have moved on since the Lightman Group started working on it so he goes on with where he would take it next (distributors, cooks, money laundering etc). He can't do much more then speculate but he works on into the early hours of the morning before he has to close his eyes for a second. When he wakes up again, its midday. The house is quiet and of course, Gillian would be at work. Cal pushes himself up, his arm aching sharply (but maybe not as bad as a few days ago). The tablet is gone (sharp spike of panic for a second there) and the light is off. He didn't do it, and the only other person who could have was Gillian. He hops and limps to the toilet (because he's desperate) and when he comes back into the bedroom to put on pants, he sees the tablet on the bedside table. Gillian came in to check on him this morning; or tucked him in.

That makes Cal feel funny.

He missed it. And he didn't want to.


	9. Chapter 9

When Gillian gets home, Cal is quiet, but not abrasive (maybe thoughtful). She gives him non-comittance and he gives her indifference (or distraction), so she guesses that's fair. She cooks and they eat together, but they don't talk much beyond the necessities (it's definitely not hostile, just like they have nothing to say to each other; to tired of it all for small talk). Gillian has a tough time meeting his eye and Cal seems preoccupied, like he has something better to do, somewhere better to be. She can't imagine what (or where he would go), but he seems quite enamoured with the tablet. When she walks behind him (not snooping, but definitely looking), she only sees that he's playing a matching game with what looks like bright coloured candy.

After the first day of Cal probing about the sex thing, he drops it and leaves her alone (_proper_ leaves her alone). And that makes Gillian feel a few things, none of them pleasant. She's not relieved, she's hurt. Firstly, he doesn't care enough to ferret out the root of the problem (like he does with everyone else), which means he doesn't care about her, and then, secondly, he goes into silent mode for the next few days. He's not hostile, not that kind of silent treatment, just... like he has nothing to say to her; like she's not even worth it (like she does to him, perhaps.) And that also makes her feel sad; it's been two weeks since they've been living in each other's pockets and they've run out of things to say to each other. Two weeks is all it took.

He doesn't ask her about her new job much either (he _was_ polite about it in the start. And she might have purposefully played it down) but he didn't push and that's the point. So Gillian focuses on her work at the high school. The people she works with are nice enough (but she hasn't tried to make friends yet; been busy). There are four other counsellors and a secretary and they have their own suite in the main building. It's almost like going back in time to when she was first a therapist, when she had to do her clinical hours and was finishing her doctorate. Except the clients this time are teenagers, which is new (she's spent time working with younger children; grade school age). Her duties aren't overly strenuous (but that might just be because it's only the first week and they're easing her into it); she has a section of the school population she has to keep tabs on in regards to school career and post-high school career (if they're seniors), and if any students on that list get into trouble, she knows about it, has to deal with it, and vice versa, if they want to see her (or anyone can see her at any time), she does (dropping what she was doing to speak with them. It hasn't happened too often yet, thankfully).

The first few days, she spends her time keeping up with what the students in her alphabet section are doing (A through to G; she got some sparse letters); mostly the seniors who are graduating in a few months (so she's at least vaguely familiar with them). She has to sit in on two disciplinary meetings (and has to bring herself up to speed with the students' history really quickly). But mostly she is left to her own devices (where she reads through files and makes a few notes). The suite is usually pretty quiet; punctuated periodically by the bell or a phone ringing, so she gets a lot of work done.

By the end of the third day, she's just about dreading going home. And that is not a good space to be in at all. Cal has just been so difficult. And she's been chicken. The weekend is fast approaching, which means they're going to be in each other's pockets for two whole awkward days if they carry on the way they are. If Cal isn't going to do anything about it, then she will, because she can't live her life like this (it's exactly why she ended up leaving Alec. Which brings her to a harrowing thought: what if she can't fix it with Cal?)

But. She doesn't know how. Where to start. If he'll listen to her. If it will get her anywhere.

Trying to talk to him could just make the situation worse. They're kind of trapped together (maybe not forever. But two weeks and they're driving each other up the wall doesn't bode well for any long term kind of arrangement. And seeing as the marshals went ahead and put them together, she's not sure how well they would take a separation). It would be easy for her to talk herself out of it. And she hasn't quite talked herself into it yet either. She has to though. She really has to. Seriously cannot go on like they have been. So when she gets home, she's actually completely surprised.

Cal meets her at the door (was he waiting there for her?). It looks like he's showered, or something; his hair is wet and he smells clean and... sexy (yep, she can smell him from where she's standing). He's leaning on his crutches, like he _was_ waiting for her to arrive and there's a look on his face, in his eye, that's not been there before. He's not angry or self-loathing or sending out any of the other frustrated and bitter energies. He's... It's hard to explain. It's like... It's like he's been waiting for her and he's a bit... turned on or something. It's predatory and kind of, enticing and attractive and it makes Gillian push the door shut absently behind her, unable to break eye contact, and then just stand there and wait (sort of stunned into immobility). There's just something different about him. He's in charge, in control. That's what it feels like. Confident. Wasn't she just complaining he wasn't confident with her and? Oh.

He comes towards her, a little shuffle of his feet and crutches and Gillian forgets that she's sort of mad at him (or something). He straightens up, right in front of her, and leans in close, slowly, really slowly, so slowly that Gillian actually starts to feel a little frustrated that he's taking so damn long. She rocks forward to her toes to meet him and he presses his mouth against hers softly. His lips are warm and she catches a good whiff of how nice he smells (makes her want to grab him roughly. She doesn't. She holds on to restraint. She'd knock him square off his feet). She feels his fingers ghosting down her arm (over the shirt she's wearing. And blazer and coat) to her wrist, where his thumb scrapes firmly against her pulse a few times (makes it jump) before hooking his fingers into hers and pulling her towards him a little more. She takes a half step, her mouth sinking tighter against his. Then she feels his tongue tracing lightly along her lips. She half thinks to make him work for it, but her body completely betrays her and gives in almost immediately.

She shifts her weight, so that she's standing less rigidly, so that Cal gets a little height advantage (because she's in heels) and feels the huff of his breath against her cheek, before his tongue is gently exploring her mouth. She feels his other hand at her other wrist, pushing her away this time, but as she goes (she's trying to take the hint now that he's leading the way, instead of worrying about the weirdness of the last week. They'll deal with it later. And if he thinks he can just... kiss her really, really good and make her forgive him, then he's wrong), he goes with her. His crutches clatter to the floor and her back is against the front door. Cal breaks the kissing to hop closer but doesn't give her much respite before he's back, mouth tender but purposeful (she forgets the weirdness completely, because this feels really good. And entirely natural).

His right fingers tangle in her clothes, like he's holding her there (not that she can move far, with his body pinning her lightly against the wood of the front door), while his left goes to her shoulder, pushes at her coat. She helps him with it, using the break to get air (to get hold of herself). His gaze is steady on hers as he helps her take her coat off (he doesn't really help much because of his physical limitations, but he does encourage her) and hops over to the rack beside the door to hang it. Gillian stoops to pick up his crutches for him, so that when he turns around she's waiting with them. He looks... put out or embarrassed but he takes them then with a little nod and hooks them under his arms. Gillian doesn't get what that was about and in that split-second that Cal hesitates she decides to go to the living room. She kicks off her shoes and sinks into the couch and Cal follows.

It looks as though he hesitates for a second, but then he's dancing his awkward jig to get the crutches out of his way and turn and drop to the cushions next to her. He jostles her roughly but when he settles Gillian comes in closer, so she's hugging against his upper arm (even though it's his broken one). "How was your day?" She asks him.

"Uh, good. How was yours?" Cal runs his palm down the thigh of his jeans (he got dressed!) and Gillian suddenly realises she's missing something. There's a tension in the air, well, not tension... but an 'air' between them. She suddenly notices Cal seems nervous. He's sitting there quite tensely and it feels like he's holding his breath periodically.

Gillian pulls back and he looks over at her. "Are you ok?"

"Yes fine," he immediately responds. Gillian takes a second to let that sink in, in case he has something else to add, but he doesn't so she gives him a slight smile and leans back against his arm, cheek to the top of his shoulder.

"My day was okay," she answers his earlier question. Now that she's giving it more thought, he's acting strange. The kissing at the door, for one, while nice, is not usual and it's doubly weird after the two-three days of Mexican stand-off they just had (or are still having). Gillian sits back again and Cal turns to look at her. It's almost as though he's waiting on her to do something or say something. Gillian remembers her determination in the car for wanting to get to the bottom of their odd situation and represses a sigh (the kissing did distract her, damnit). She hesitates on the verge of saying something, wavering, but Cal meets her eyes and she can see that he's _wanting_ her to say something now, no longer just hoping for it. Fine, she'll go first. She can take a hint.

"Cal. The last few days."

He turns his lips inward, so they disappear into his mouth, like he's trying to suck them away; it's not a happy expression.

Gillian plunges on, even though she doesn't know what to say to that. "I didn't mean for..."

Cal blinks. His attentiveness puts her off.

"I don't want it to be... like that," Gillian finishes lamely. Usually, she's quite good with words but that might be because usually she knows what it is she's trying to say. It's probably the closest she's going to get to actually apologising to him, because she simultaneously feels she should and should _not_ actually say she's sorry; it's moot.

Cal lets his lips go and they give a little pout. "Yeah me either," he says cautiously. She watches the way his shoulders drop and he seems to relax into his seat. That 'air' lifts and Gillian relaxes herself. She figures that's about as much apology as she's going to get from him too (she also thinks he should _and_ should not have to apologise).

"Want to eat?" She asks.

"Yeah," Cal agrees.

Gillian plants a kiss on him (why not? She likes kissing him. And that was some seriously hot and heavy by the front door. _And_, they seemed to have just taken a step forward) and gets up. She goes to the kitchen, trawls through the cupboards for inspiration and comes up lacking. Her feet hurt and she's wary, especially since she sat down; she should have just kept going as soon as she got in the door. If she hadn't been confronted by the front door. Ravished. She wonders what compelled him to do that? It was slightly out of the blue. It was a good ice breaker (she supposes) but maybe a little... Ah forget it. She's not in the mood for over analysing everything. Sometimes, it's fine to just go with the flow.

She goes through to the living room again. Cal looks up at her from the couch, tablet in his lap. "Pizza?" She asks.

"Sure," Cal responds with a slight grin.

Gillian goes back to the front door and fishes her purse off the floor (where she dropped it and didn't even realise she had until now). She digs out her phone. "Too tired for cooking," she tells him absently as she searches for a local pizza place and misses the odd expression on Cal's face. She doesn't ask him what he wants on it, because she knows already and within twenty minutes there's a knock at the door. For a second, panic hits Gillian's stomach; a stranger at the door. And at this hour? She talks herself out of it though, and checks through the peephole to make sure it is indeed the delivery boy (girl, actually, it's a young woman). Gillian takes the box through to Cal and curls her legs under her as she sits next to him on the cushions. For once he doesn't lie all stretched out, so they sit shoulder to shoulder (when they could have sat at opposite ends, or across the room) and eat while they watch the news together.

Cal puts on the history channel afterwards and Gillian shifts to rest her head on his shoulder, while he finishes off the pizza. Then she closes her eyes. Then she starts to feel herself drift off. Before she actually goes to sleep though, she pulls herself away. Cal's head turns towards her. "Time for bed for me," she tells him, half apologetic and sleepy. Cal reaches for the remote. "You don't have to come now," Gillian tells him as she gets up, pushing against his shoulder for leverage.

"No, it's all right," Cal counters almost eagerly. Gillian doesn't wait for him, but goes upstairs to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She changes into her pyjamas on autopilot but once she's dressed she stops. She's been sleeping up there for the last few nights. Because things have been entirely awkward between them. But there was a quasi-apology, or perhaps, just a clearing of the air between them, so maybe she should go back down there. To be honest, she doesn't like all the back and forth. She's been cowardly escaping to the first floor when something goes wrong between them. She might not know exactly where she stands with Cal, and she might not exactly know what she wants from Cal, but she knows that they're not going to get anywhere, to even test out the waters, if there isn't a little consistency (if there isn't, at least, trying). And he kind of started it tonight.

So Gillian goes back downstairs and finds Cal taking his shirt off before he gets into bed (very nice view). She catches the look on his face when he sees her and it's almost pure shock, which he then tries to cover over quickly. They stop where they are for a second, Cal by the bed, Gillian by the doorway, then Cal throws back the covers on the bed and continues on with getting in (that was her invitation to join him). Gillian goes around the bed and gets in the other side. Cal busies himself with the covers and yeah, it's between them, that barometer of their relationship. Gillian vows to not let it happen again.

Cal settles back on the pillow and is still. The light is still on so Gillian leans over him to put it out. She can feel him stiff beneath her as she leans over his torso. She gives him another kiss as she moves back to her side. "Goodnight Cal," she murmurs in the darkness, eyes already closed.

"Night Gill," he responds.

**PJ**

Sometimes it's nice to have the house quiet and for Gillian to feel like she's possibly the only person alive left on the earth. She thinks about how it would be if that were true, if she left the house this morning to find there was no traffic on the streets, no one trekking the sidewalks; no teenagers waiting for her at school. She thinks she might not care too much, considering all these people in this town are strangers who she hasn't known long enough to even miss. But there are other people in her life (her former life) she does wonder about. How are Ria and Eli coping? (And also, what have they done about the Lightman Group?) Her parents, of course. And then there's Cal. If he were gone... She really can't imagine her life without him in it in some way or other. Before (before, before. Before all of this), when things weren't great between them, she used to think about the process of leaving him. But even then, when she pictured herself not going into the Lightman Group building every day, she couldn't imagine letting go of Cal (she figured, after a while, after he got over being hurt that she had gone, they might be friends again. Proper friends. Without the business always between them). It's been years since she's gone more than a day without even speaking to him.

They really _are_ practically married.

(And might have been acting that way for a little while.)

Gillian starts on her coffee at the kitchen sink while she waits for her breakfast to cook. She looks out into the yard (no snow) at the bare trees without seeing them (she knows they're there, can see outlines from the streetlights, but it's still dark). She keeps an ear out for Cal, half hoping that he's going to join her, grumbling about the hour, so they can talk about... anything really; it's the company she's hoping for. Because even though it's kind of nice to have the peacefulness, she's also... kind of lonely. She didn't spend every waking minute of her marriage with Alec so perhaps today she's just feeling melancholy. Or perhaps it's just that it's Cal and she likes him and wants to spend time with him (at least when they're angry with each other that explains the distance, but when they're not, it might be nice to have him... around).

She eats at the dining table by herself and moves around the house quietly, showering upstairs and dressing for her day. Before she leaves, she goes back to Cal's bedroom and pushes the door open softly. He's pretty much where she left him, on his back, head to the side; she can't see his face but she can hear him breathing steadily. She's tempted to give him a kiss goodbye but suddenly feels silly and girly. She's not sure what's come over her this morning, but it's probably to do with what happened last night.

Maybe she just wants to know that last night meant something more significant than a half apology. She wants it to be a turning point.

There's not a lot of traffic on the road this early and Gillian travels to Boulder High in the quasi-darkness listening to the weather report. They're predicting snow by lunch time, consistent for most of the weekend. Gillian's mood depresses a little so she stops at her new cafe to buy herself something silly (a snowman cookie) to make herself feel better (it's the small things, she discovered a long time ago, that can make all the difference. And why deny herself that? It's not like she's snorting cocaine). The young man behind the counter is starting to recognise her (she's forgone coffee at the house to pick up something creamy on her way to work a few times this week) so she gets a friendly greeting and a nice smile and that helps make her feel better too.

The campus is still quiet this early (Gillian has to be at the school by seven thirty on Mondays, Thursday and Fridays. She thinks she's lucked out) but the heat and lights are on as Gillian goes inside and to her office. She unlocks it, turns her own lights on, powers up the computer, deposits her treat on the desk, then strips off her winter layers. She should have checked the weather before leaving the house; she's rethinking her footwear (she looked last night, but there was no snow forecast. At least she's not in her Louboutins. Has she mentioned she misses them?)

Gillian logs onto the school's network and checks her mail. There's a broadcast from the vice-principals desk (it goes to all staff and is posted on the website) reminding the school community about the school events on, on the weekend. There's a football game that night but Gillian hadn't planned on attending (it might not be so much fun sitting there in the cold by herself) and there is a math tournament for the elite mathematicians on Saturday afternoon (she's also going to pass on that one). After that, Gillian checks her other more personal messages (as in, they're specifically for her; they're not personal, personal, like from her family or anything) and works on the requests within them.

She meets with three of her seniors, talks about colleges and test scores. She has lunch in the second lunch period, which is later in the afternoon (because a counsellor always has to be available to students, and it seems two is required because there are always students milling around in the counsellors' suite) and that means her afternoon goes rather quickly. But just as she's thinking she might get a quieter afternoon, she's wrong. There's a buzz on her phone and she's asked if she can take a meeting; someone's in trouble.

Jerome Manning. When Gillian hears the name her heart almost stops. She flashes back to the moment the meth lab exploded in her face, the fierce rush of heat and feels her cheeks flush. She doesn't miss the concerned expression on her vice-principle's face and quickly takes a chair (she finds her palms are sweating). Jerome is sixteen and, in general, having difficulty in school. Academically, he's about average, but behaviourally he's in trouble most of the time for not showing up to class, showing up late, causing disruptions and threatening other students. He sounds like a tough nut and Gillian is so glad to take on something that seems difficult and prolonged in her first week; hell of a test, one she's totally up for; she's good at a challenge.

But when she puts her self-pity aside for the step down she's taken (for the boredom she can feel setting in and she's only on day four) she reminds herself that she's there to do a job, and not just that, but she does actually enjoy helping people, thinks she's not too bad at it, and really does want to figure this kid out (obviously, there is something else going on with him that no one else knows about). The meeting goes for close to forty-five minutes and one of the first things Gillian notices is that no one in the room actually talks to Jerome (the VP or Jerome's homeroom teacher, or the baseball coach, who seems bored; Jerome is on the team. Or he was. That's a bit iffy right now), even though he is sitting there in the middle of the room. Cal would immediately point out that putting him in a situation where he feels threatened or cornered is not going to be the best for getting a response; he'd immediately be on the kid's side (and so is Gillian).

She doesn't do too much talking in the meeting, mostly, she sits back and listens, occasionally jots something down to work out later, and, interestingly, finds herself watching Jerome's face and noting down the expression's she sees and when (as in, what was being discussed). The long or short of it is, Jerome is on his last chance. He's missing too much school and is at risk of being held back (but not because is grades are poor, he has to meet attendance requirements). He basically has to show up to every class from now on. Not only that, he has to take twice weekly meetings with his guidance counsellor (Gillian, now, seeing as she was available at the time of this meeting), and there has to be marked improvements in his behaviour. Not so easy, by the look of it, Gillian thinks to herself.

The bell signals the end of the period, and also the end of the meeting and also the end of Gillian's work day. She starts early and gets to go home early. As Gillian's getting into her car to go home, she realises two things. The first is that it's not snowing and it hasn't, in fact, snowed that day at all. The second, is that she was half tempted to text Cal and let him know she was on her way home. She's looking forward to seeing him but she's not sure if that's because of the nice surprise she got yesterday evening, or because it's nearly been a whole week now of her working, and she's barely seen him (well, not barely, but certainly a whole lot less than the 24 hours of the previous weeks) and, maybe, she misses him a little bit (and that that might be why she was in a funny mood that morning).

Cal seems... a little antsy when she gets back to the house. He's in the kitchen cooking. She equally likes that he's got dinner (not really) on the table (about half way through, it looks like; he started really early...) when she gets in (so she doesn't have to cook when she's tired) and that he's actually making something that smells incredible and that isn't just fish and a salad (not that she's complaining about that, there's just something nice about a complex meal put together from scratch, with maybe a little love.) So when Gillian half-sneaks up on Cal at the stove, she's not sure he's jumpy because she surprised him, or for another reason (a surprise like that should be easier to get over, but acts weird for longer than she thinks he should. Like he has a guilty conscience).

"I didn't hear you come in," Cal states the obvious.

Gillian gives a shrug, takes the wooden spoon from his left hand after watching him awkwardly try to stir the thickening sauce. He doesn't protest, hops away to give her more room. Her other hand goes to his waist, feels his torso through the thin material of the t-shirt he's wearing (he seems to have brought all the grey from the safe house. Which to be fair, doesn't look half bad on him. He might be wearing a half size too small, because she can see the definition of his pecs. And the flash of a tattoo.)

"Did you have a good day?" Cal mumbles his question, checking on the other pots (it looks like chicken cacciatore with rice.) Gillian, distracted, takes a second to respond. Her hand drifts to the hair at the back of his head and his eyes come up to meet hers, surprised for a second before giving into it. He turns his body towards her (conscious or not) and Gillian leans in to kiss him softly. He gives her more surprise when she pulls away (she supposes she doesn't do that too often; maybe ever) and she asks, "Is that ok?"

Cal looks taken aback for a split second. "Yes," he says but it sounds a bit like a question. He gives a slight smile (like he can't help it) and Gillian returns it, feeling her cheeks heat. Cal breaks into a grin and Gillian mirrors it and there's a strange feeling in her chest. She feels lighter and warmer and pleased with his reaction. She suspects it's because she's actually being honest. Not just with telling him something that's true, or acting on an impulse to taste his lips, but because she did it without thinking about how he was going to take it, without obsessing over that twitch of his mouth or the crinkle of his eye. (Oh dear god, she's become him.) She did it without him having to break the ice first.

"You're home early," Cal points out. "Kind of ruining my surprise here."

"Oh sorry," Gillian responds, feeling her cheeks warm again. "Want me to go out and come back in another hour?"

Cal smirks. "No, but you'll have to help me finish up now."

Gillian stops daydreaming and gives him another smile. "Sure." She is anyway. Cal directs more liquid to the sauce, turns down the heat on another element, goes to the fridge for more ingredients.

"So, home early?" Cal asks again.

Gillian reminds him of her hours again. "Oh right," he mumbles and stands behind her to chop. Gillian listens to the slow thunk of the knife against the wooden board, thinks belatedly that maybe she should offer to do the cutting, and realises that he probably started cooking so early because he's so slow. Poor guy. (But also kudos for firstly cooking her dinner, and secondly attempting to have it ready for when she got home. If she had gotten home at the normal time).

When Cal deems the food ready, he hops to the cupboard and takes out two plates, while Gillian turns off the heat and grabs a serving spoon. She carries their plates to the dining room and they sit together. Gillian compliments the food after the first bite (it really is that good) and then they're quiet as they eat their meal. Cal clears his throat and Gillian looks up, expecting conversation but he only glances over at her as he chews and so she lets her mind drift away again.

It's just about the weekend and she's tired. She's looking forward to sleeping in. And maybe a long bath at some point during those next two days, before she has to go to work. She also wouldn't mind a bit more shopping, as long as the weather holds out (coffee maker. Desperately. Instant is just not right).

"No snow today," Gillian notes, the silence, while not uncomfortable, has been long and maybe a little strange.

Cal looks like he's been pulled from thought. "Was it meant to snow?"

"They forecast it this morning."

Cal looks to the window but its dark out, like he's just noticed, and Gillian gives up on conversation; he's clearly a million miles away. And that's okay, she supposes. Maybe he has things on his mind. Maybe they've run out of things to say to each other. Maybe, he just enjoys a bit of silence. She's seen all three of those sides of him. But she suspects its things on his mind because she finishes her meal first and he's started to play with his a bit. She presses a kiss to his temple as she gets up (doesn't think, just acts) and goes to clear the kitchen away. He hobbles in a few minutes later with his empty plate (he must have wolfed down the last of it) and helps stack the dishwasher.

They sit and watch the evening news. Gillian closes her eyes for a second and then she's being shaken gently awake by Cal. "Bedtime," he tells her.

Gillian blinks, confused.

"Let's go," Cal tells her gently. "Bed."

So they go to bed. Gillian brushes her teeth half heartedly in the bathroom downstairs (she has re-migrated her toothbrush; did that this morning while she was creeping around) and starts stripping off her clothes before she's even in the bedroom. She goes to Cal's dresser and takes a t-shirt, slipping it on and getting under the covers. She's not even really aware of where Cal is in all of this (she's mostly asleep), and she's only half aware of him getting into bed with her (can't miss the earthquake of him bouncing onto the mattress) but once he's settled, she has enough presence of mind left to scoot closer and snuggle up against his shoulder. Then she's out.

She doesn't notice him press a kiss to her hair.

**PJ**

Cal drifts awake, emerging from a dream he immediately forgets (but thinks was nice enough) and automatically shifts his ass on the mattress to let the blood flow slide in again. He attempts to bend his right knee (forgetting in his half-awake state) and is constricted by the plaster cast. But it doesn't hurt the point of the break this time and he thinks there might be a turning point there, somewhere, a little bit. Like there was one with Gillian the other night (and last night too. There was some _serious_ cuddling even though they weren't post-coital and she was mostly asleep already) and Cal comes more awake, sensing that he might be alone in the bed. A quick tearing of his eyes open confirms this and he gives a little groan. It might have been nice to wake up with her there (he's spent a whole week waking alone). He forces himself more conscious and sits (and when he presses his broken arm to the mattress for leverage, he notes that it doesn't seem to hurt either). The bedroom is dim and the door is closed; he can't hear if Gillian is across the hall in the bathroom or if she is even still in the house. Cal turns his head to check the time; it's late in the morning (his usual wake up time). So she woke ages ago and has already gone to work. And he's missed her again.

Cal works himself out of bed, finds a t-shirt to put on and some pants (cut off pyjamas. Home wear. He has some cut off jeans for when he leaves the house. But that hasn't been often). Then he half hops and shuffles across the hall to the bathroom (and when he stands on his broken leg, that doesn't hurt half as much as it used to). He goes to the kitchen, helps himself to the coffee Gillian's already partook in, by the look of the dirty cup in the sink (and she had breakfast too; those dishes are also there). Cal has a quick bowl of cereal while he's standing at the bench and then, with his coffee cup half empty, goes through to the living room and plants himself on the couch (carefully, doesn't want to spill). He starts with morning TV just to see if there's anything that's going to hold his attention (while he's waking up) and when it doesn't, he turns it off and looks around for the tablet. It's not in there with him, though he was sure he had left it on the coffee table yesterday evening. A surge of frustration bubbles up inside him; he can't be bothered going through the whole frigging rigmarole of getting up again and going into the other room, hopping and leaning on one crutch with his leg hurting (the more cumulative standing he does, the more it aches), just to get the fricking device.

Instead, he turns and scoots his body down the couch so he's lying stretched out full length along all the cushions, his neck against one arm (as a pillow) and his broken foot on top of the other arm rest at the other end (he's meant to have been elevating it. He doubts it's going to help him at all now, nearly three weeks later, but it is comfortable). He closes his eyes, ruing his poor luck (with all his broken bones) and frustration. He takes a deep breath and holds it, hearing his blood pulsing, then pounding, then threatening in his ears.

He tells himself to calm down. He tells himself that the broken limbs are only temporary and he has bigger goals in mind right now. Mostly, he needs to get his shit together. And maybe he can't jump in the shower and wash his hair and have a shave (which is usually how he gets himself back together) but that doesn't mean he _can't_ wash, or wash his hair (actually, that one is trickier as he found out the other day, attempting it by himself), or have a shave. So he gets up again to do just that but after the wash part he can't be bothered with either of the other two. It all seems to take so much energy (and it takes _so_ long) that he just goes back to the couch. He has an afternoon nap and when he wakes his mood hasn't much improved. When Gillian gets home that evening there's no dinner and he's barely moved all day. He can tell immediately that she's disappointed, and instead of telling himself that he should be making more effort, he gets annoyed at her reaction. Never mind that yesterday he was telling himself that half their problem was him (not the sex bit, he's trying to move on from/ignore that) and that he was promising to work on it; to be less grumpy, to stop taking it out on her.

Never mind that yesterday, when he cooked for her, and kissed her, and was nice to her she fully responded (she responded so easily and so well, he was kind of surprised. He thought it might take _a lot_ more effort than that). Never mind that it led to a lot of affection and cuddling and basically all the things he was craving. Never mind that he could forget about the explosion (well not really. Kind of hard to ignore a giant plaster cast on his leg and another on his arm), and the awkward foray into having sex with each other (which turned out to be a total bust...), and that they might have had a chance at starting over and doing it properly this time (because, yeah, he is totally aware that they've gone about this all wrong). Never mind all that. Now he's grumpy and frustrated and he wants to be alone (even though he woke up that morning wishing he wasn't). But Gillian is there and he can see the confusion, then hurt, in her eyes, and even though it's a bit like kicking a puppy, he can't seem to stop himself. But because he's trying to be less of a moody prick, by bed time he does manage to tone it down (and even though he's been grumpy, he hasn't bitched at her; he's just been... well, sullen, actually, which might be construed as grumpy at her).

When it's bed time (Gillian calls it), Cal gets up with her. He's really, really hoping that she won't go upstairs (after his sulking) but she does and he gives a brusque 'goodnight' at the foot of the stairs. She turns her head away but he still catches the way her eyes fade and he berates himself for being... too... he doesn't even know what anymore. Moody? Or just himself? He watches her ass for a few seconds as she climbs (until he thinks she might think he's being creepy) and then moves down the hall to his room. He's getting much better at using his crutches with his broken arm. It helps that it doesn't hurt much anymore (unless he does something really extreme) and he knows the right angle and the right amount of pressure to be able to support his weight without causing the limb to ache.

He uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth, then hops it across the hall to his bedroom and flicks on the light. He goes to the lamp and puts that on, then leans his crutches against the little bedside table so he can get them in the morning. Balancing mostly on one leg (because while his arm seems to be hurting less, and his leg is doing better, it still sends him sharp enough signals to be weary if he pushes it too hard), he takes his shirt off and tosses it to land on top of the dresser (no accessories or photos on top of there to worry about). He has to stand for a second to regain his balance, then grips the elastic of his cut off pyjama pants to tug them down. He catches something out of the corner of his eye and looks over to the door. It's Gillian, but the surprise still catches his heart and makes him have to swing abruptly around to sit heavily on the mattress.

She watches him impassively (thank god she's not laughing at him) as she moves to lean against the door frame, "Want some company?" She doesn't ask it casually. She asks it like she can't tell anymore and is actually _asking_ him.

"Yes," Cal answers after a beat (could have been a beat too long. He doesn't want to seem too keen, nor too distant; he's an idiot for playing these games with her. Just tell her what he wants, it worked for him yesterday). She comes into the room, pushing the door almost closed and turning off the overhead light. She's dressed for bed (she went upstairs to get pyjamas, so he totally called that wrong) and she goes around the room to the side of the bed Cal doesn't sleep on. While Cal finishes the awkward move of taking his pants off, Gillian slips beneath the covers. He likes that she's there, but he's really starting to hate that she's forcing sleeping in the same bed as him to be a barometer of how their relationship is going (or maybe it's a good thing, because then he'll know where he stands). He stands again to pull back the covers and Gillian helps him and he's pretty sure he catches some bare thigh (which is also very nice). Then he does his awkward dance to get onto the mattress and Gillian flicks the covers up over him (kind of tucking him in again). Then she leans right over him to put the light out, and as she moves back, her mouth is searching against his (with cute little laughs as she finds her way in the dark). She kisses him hotly and thoroughly and when she pulls back she whispers 'goodnight Cal' before she settles on her side of the bed and goes almost straight to sleep.

And he's fully amazed, because even though he's kind of been a jerk once again, Gillian hasn't gone to hide upstairs... and he feels worse. She's clearly making some effort and he's back to acting like a child. He can do better. He swears he's going to do better. It's not her fault he's broken and it's not her fault that they're there. He's got to stop.

He has to.

He's already done something stupid.

And he's not sure what she's going to do when she finds out.

She's going to find out.

She always does.


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: this chapter is somewhat sexually explicit._

**PJ**

Gillian wakes early in the morning. Even without the alarm. So even though there isn't an obnoxious claxon to wake her, her body decides now is a good time to get into a routine and become alert. She's fully awake in less than a minute, not even drifting, not even at the point where she can roll over and go back to sleep. Which is annoying. It's Saturday and she thinks she's earned the right to sleep in (she _needs_ one). Her days are tiring (a lot of mental effort. She's had one entirely silent session with Jerome already and she thinks next week is going to be much of the same. He is a kid who is just not interested in being there. She's either going to fail completely or have a major break though; there will be no in-between) and then when she comes home it's like dealing with another child in Cal. She doesn't get him (no, she _does_ get it, he's frustrated and he's taking it out on her). One minute he's fine, and then next hour he's sulking. He's so up and down it's emotionally draining and mentally draining and she thought that it had stopped the day before only for her to come home last night and have him be that silently fuming teenager who doesn't talk about what's bothering him but somehow makes her feel like it's all her fault.

Gillian stares at the wall opposite the bed, blinking her eyes into focus, lying in the darkness as she listens to Cal breathing next to her. She gets he's frustrated, she really does, she's not made of stone (and this is hard on her too) but she doesn't get how he makes her responsible for it. She doesn't get why it's so hard. She also doesn't get why she doesn't say anything about it. She's never been afraid to talk to him about something before, even when he's been a jerk to her about it, even when it seemed to cost them their friendship (she still hasn't figured out what she did to make him act like that towards her either. It can't _all_ have been about Wallowski). Maybe that's it though, he's just... confusing and imagines slights that aren't there (or she really _has_ slighted him, and just has no idea what it was that she did. Which is getting into a pathetic territory).

Ugh. She really hates thinking like this. So much speculation and no answers. The truth is, she doesn't know, has no idea, and is too exhausted to put in the effort to figure it out. Or maybe that's it? She's not putting in the effort. She thought she had been doing better on that front; she certainly hasn't called him on anything since they've been here, not like she would have normally, because she knows he's irritated (actually, he seems downright furious sometimes) and she's trying to make allowances, but maybe that's not actually the right thing to do. Maybe he wants her to ask, to push. Some people are like that. What's glaringly obvious to her, is that she doesn't really know Cal at all. Because, aside from some glimpses, this isn't the Cal she was friends with, business partners with, slowly developing feelings with, back in D.C.

She wonders if she's changed since the explosion. She might have, though she feels the same. Everything in her life has changed, she might have to adapt. She thinks maybe that's what Cal has done, changed to adapt. They've had no other choice. They haven't had a lot of choices about anything really. What if she didn't want to work at the high school? They might be being looked after financially, but it feels like little compensation for what they're suffering to be state's witness. The programme usually deals with criminals, who probably didn't have a great life before (she's making wild generalisations. She knows it's not always living from drug sale to drug sale with threats of violence for every person who regularly breaks the law. Look at Jerome Willis. Bastard) and are moved to somewhere safe and nice. But she was perfectly fine before all of this. She had an income (as wobbly as it could be at times), nice things (shoes. She had nice shoes), a life. Her life. The life she had picked and created for herself (sometimes hard fought for too). And then the marshals came along and just assumed. They just assumed she wanted to live in Colorado and with Cal and to work as a counsellor.

(She might not have minded any of those things, actually, if she had chosen them for herself.)

She wonders what Cal would have chosen for himself if he were given the option (she remembers something about the marshals coming to talk to them about where they were going and what was happening next, but that never happened. And why not? It's not like they had gone anywhere. Oh, except to the hospital that time. Which was kind of her fault...) She figures none of this, seeing as it angers him so much. But really, the marshals did this to both of them, so they should be on each other's side.

They should be on _each other's side_.

Gillian feels a prickle of tears, the loneliness welling up sharply inside her, pressuring her lungs. She doesn't like feeling like this, and it's not fair. Jerome Willis is the bad guy and yet they're being punished for it.

"Are you crying?" Cal's voice is sleepy in the dark.

"No," Gillian strangles out, a complete lie. It's all a fucking lie really. All a game of pretending and not saying things. She can't tell the people she works with who she really is and where she's really from. She can't explain how she sees Jerome Manning's (_not_ the bad guy Jerome) anger and sadness (and lies on his behalf and tells the VP that he's cooperating with her even when he's not because she knows there's something underlying in him, that he _wants_ to talk about eventually, even though right now he's trying to block her out); she knows the kid isn't rotten to the core (despite what his homeroom teacher callously said to her in the hallway yesterday).

Cal grumbles something and she feels him shift closer. She can imagine the effort he makes to get over the mattress to her, especially when she realises he's on his side and is trying to tug her into an embrace. So she caves and goes with it because he's not the only one who's upset, and he might not like people around when he's grumpy, but she does, because she likes the comfort and affection. She likes to be held. And Cal does. He holds her, even though it's awkward, and she can feel him constantly rocking back and forth as he loses his balance and tries to regain it without crushing her. She thinks he's probably crushing himself and can't be comfortable at all so she pushes against him, so he's on his back and then she moves so she's lying on top of him, full body. His casts dig into her in the worst ways, but she doesn't move and he wraps both arms over her back tightly, holding her in place, and she turns her head to his chest, can hear his heart beat in a comforting rhythm. She closes her eyes and she's not crying anymore (kind of wasn't really in the beginning. Just a weird sob. She doesn't know how she managed to wake him up. But she's kind of glad he did, because this is nice and this is something that she's needed; even though she might not have realised it).

They lie that way for a while but then Gillian notes how Cal's breath starts to hitch; she's crushing him, but he's also bruising her. She moves away from the casts first, slides a leg down each side of his body and then pushes up off his chest. His arms fall away and she's straddling over him, her hands on the mattress on either side of his body, his on top of her thighs and it suddenly strikes her, that this is unexpectedly intimate, and is almost how they started getting closer in the first place (i.e. having sex. Which could have been fine if he hadn't found out she wasn't _enjoying_ it. Which she was, by the way).

He doesn't ask her 'what's wrong' and she doesn't tell him. She leans down and kisses him though. It's still dark (she has no idea what time) but she knows where his mouth is. She's not sure what's going through her mind, just like the first time he kissed her last week, but she knows it's not just about comfort. As frustrating as he is, it's Cal. It's her and Cal. She finally remembers all of that bit and she remembers she wants this bit too; she wants him. The kisses are kind of chaste but she rolls her hips into him and he growls and that undoes her a little. His mouth breaks from hers and his hands reach up higher for her, pulling her in closer. Then he's back to kissing her, a little less gentle about it now and it makes her stomach feel tight, her body throb. His casted hand comes to her jaw but he only uses his fingers to brush against her cheek, into her hair, distracting her from the fact that his left hand is trying to get into her pants (impressive, seeing as it's not his dominant hand. And they've had a rough time with sex before now. Guess he's not shy) and sliding against her skin, growing the burning feeling beneath her stomach so painfully sweet that she grabs at his wrist, pushes against his fingers until he's shifting down and inside her underwear (guess she's not shy either).

Gillian can't manage to get a thought together to try and stop it before it's already started (she thinks maybe they should talk first?); she can't actually object because she's encouraging him. And then very quickly she doesn't want him to stop (fuck talking). She grinds her hips into him as he slides his fingers purposefully. She feels the push of his hips against her from beneath, the firm work of his fingers, driving her quickly (and easily) towards a hotness she can't get her head around. She might have thought it ironic that he was doing this so easily now, and yet last week and a few days ago, it never occurred to him. She might have thought it was unfair that he was doing this now, that she had a moment ago been ready to hash it out with him (probably end up yelling at each other) on an intellectual level instead of just being... all carnal about it. But mostly what she is thinking is how goddamn good it feels and how she so desperately wants the relief she's being promised.

Cal gives up on her mouth, tugs her head down so he can move to her neck, pressing his shoulder against hers (probably trying to get as much contact as possible, seeing as she's sitting on him), as he rounds his fingers against her in large firm circles. Gillian huffs at air, her cheeks hot and her body tingly in all the deliciously good places. She fists a hand into the hair at the side of his head, cool for a second until her fingers warm it. "This ok?" Cal murmurs against her throat. She feels him try to move his head back (probably to look at her. In the dark?) but she shoves his head to the side again, pressing his face into her neck and throws her head back with a breathless groan.

"Yes," she whispers in response (as if the groan wasn't response enough) and Cal gives a grunt.

"Want me inside you?" He asks next, alternately licking and sucking at her skin, his voice low and exquisite.

"Yes!" Gillian cries, her hips pushing towards him again. He obliges and her knees feel weak and foreign (he uses his fingers, but he could have not meant them).

"One or two?"

"Two," she stammers. He fulfils that request as well and she's biting at her lip, not sure she can feel her legs.

"Fast or slow?"

She wants to punch him for forcing her to make decisions. She's silent, riding out the waves rippling through her body for a while. But then he stops dead and she gives a sharp squeak of displeasure, gripping his hair so tightly and squeezing him with her thighs that his body tries rolling away from her, protesting.

"Don't!" She manages.

"Fast or slow?" Cal repeats patiently and even though she doesn't let his hair go, he places soft kisses against her throat.

"Uh," Gillian breathes. She doesn't know. Can't think. Either. All of them. "Both."

Cal gives another grunt (this one sounding amused) and starts moving his fingers again. Agonisingly slowly, making Gillian's muscles tense up all hideously so she feels she might implode like a black hole and suck herself into an abyss. God he's fucking, annoyingly, irritatingly, hot and his fingers and oh! Now he doesn't want any more instruction? He's just... taking initiative now. Good.

God.

Holly mother of _god_.

And then nothing. No more cursing just the agonising sweetness of release and prickling hotness all through her body. She's shivering and shuddering, her grip too tight in his hair, her legs weak and her strength failing on her; oxygen hard to get. They cling to each other, holding each other tightly. Gillian feels herself sway and shoots out a hand to his shoulder at the same time Cal reaches for her arm to steady her. She slides off him to the side but he makes her stay nice and close. Gillian wishes the light was on. She'd like to see his face, see his expression. She wants to see what he thinks of that. She's acutely aware of the fact that he's turned on (it's nice that he is. Makes her want to return the favour).

"Wow," she gushes.

Cal shifts back, lets her take her own weight (she's resting mostly on the mattress now anyway), slides his fingers over her tingly skin. "Figure I owed you one," he says in the dark and she can read a lot in that tone. Half apology, half pride (that's ok, he can be proud, he did good). She might forgive him, but she's not _entirely_ convinced right now that everything between them is ok (not sure it's an easily-fixed-by-an-apology, or a shag, type problem). It doesn't resolve the see-saw nature to his mood, nor does it fix the feelings of loneliness inside her. The first time they had sex, she thought it might be a means to an end, a chance for them to get closer, intimate, and share things, talk about things (or not, as the case may be) for them to get over the hurdle. But it seemed to cause more friction between them (and not the good kind). But something has to change.

"I need it to be different Cal," Gillian starts. It's still dark, she's feeling pretty good, now might be a good time for getting a few things out in the open.

"What was that then?" Cal asks her. Not sharply but still, there's something in his tone that doesn't brook argument. And when she thinks about it, he is kind of right. That right there was different. Firstly, she had an orgasm. Secondly, he could have tried for sex, and was, instead, unselfish and did something just for her (and he's not hinting at reciprocation). So yeah, it's different on two fronts and maybe she should take that and go with it. Give him a chance to show her. It does seem as though he's trying, and she can't, and won't, fault him for that (even if it did take a while). Not everything has to be a discussion.

**PJ**

Ok, so the plan was to do something for Gillian, to show her he wasn't a completely selfish bastard, (and that also, by the way, he _does_ know his way around a woman's body, thank you very much. Plus, he was paying attention when Gillian showed him) not necessarily have her reciprocate. But oh he is _not_ complaining (and he's not going to shove her away. He's not that much of an idiot). She doesn't need direction though, seems to have it entirely under control, while he slowly loses it (he probably couldn't manage to voice requests anyway). Even kicking her (accidentally) with his bulky cast doesn't put her off and he is absolutely putty in her... mouth. Even when he feels like he's about to climax, his body tensing with it and the words in the back of his throat to warn her, she withdraws and squeezes the tip of him so hard that everything dials back several notches and he can go twice as long.

Seriously, he thinks he loves her even more.

After he had finished her (and, it just goes to show, there is no way he could have missed her climaxing if he had truly been paying attention before. Not after the delightful show she put on a moment ago. Definitely _no way_ he would have missed that normally. Which means he's kind of been a prick, even if he didn't actually mean to. And he wishes the lights were on, so he could see her face) she slid off him and he pushed himself into a sitting position (even though its dark, he's not going back to sleep) preparing to get up. But she didn't leave the room. She pulled back the covers and kneeled over his thighs and lowered her head to his groin.

It's probably the best blow job he's had in... well, maybe saying his whole life would be an exaggeration, but it's got to be incredibly close. It's certainly the best he's had in a _long_ time (he can't even think back to the last one) and he wishes it were this good when they were actually having sex. Because sex isn't just about him getting off, it's meant to be about intimacy and being connected and he most definitely wants that with Gillian. That's why he wanted to do something just for her when the opportunity arose (he's not much in a position to be able to instigate, but he is willing to take control as much as he can).

For half a day, after she told him she had 'thought it would get better' (and she was so clearly disappointed that it hadn't, that he was a failure) he thought about getting over her. But as soon as she comes home he wants to be with her all over again (and no, it's not lost on him that when she's here it feels like _home_,and when she's not it's just a house to him). Which makes the whole non-orgasm thing so much more pitiful because he wants her to feel as fricking good as he feels right now, every time they're together.

Gillian finishes, gets up and kisses him on the cheek, murmuring that she's going to go have a shower, and leaves him shaky and sweaty on the bed, in the dark, coming down off a beautiful high, unable to form words (doesn't say thank you). He was actually serious about just doing something for Gillian, but this is better; it already feels much more intimate. As he regains his breath he thinks he should probably go have a wash as well. He's actually really glad that he thought to yesterday, what with all the... intimacy... that has inadvertently occurred. Because he's kind of been a slob too really. He doesn't remember the last time he bothered with a proper sponge bath (just did the important bits) and it's been over a week since Gillian washed his hair for him (he didn't this latest time, to be fair. He managed one shampoo in the bathroom sink before he just got tired with using his left arm, leaning over etc. The whole thing. And gave up).

Cal gets himself back together, shifts to the edge of the bed. He reaches for his crutches but they seem to be gone. He was pretty sure he brought them to bed last night, but it wouldn't be the first time he's left them in another part of the house. He leans to put the bedside light on, the brightness cutting into his eyes. He sees the time (seven) and his crutches; they slid to the floor. It's a bit bloody awkward trying to stoop to pick them up (when he can't bend his knee at all) but luckily for him, Gillian's not around to witness (or do it for him).

A few minutes later, when Cal's at the dresser putting a clean shirt on, Gillian comes in. She comes to stand in front of him (in only a towel... with her hair all wet... good lord) and puts an arm around his shoulder, a kiss on his mouth. He catches the scent of soap and she asks him if he wants breakfast. It takes him a moment to find his voice (she does that to him); yes he does. She entices him with eggs and bacon and coffee.

"You had me at breakfast," Cal tells her and she laughs, her eyes a beautiful colour in the light (it really is amazing what a good orgasm can do to a mood), and Cal smiles in response. "Thank you," he blurts.

She gives him an easy smile. "You're welcome."

"No," Cal brings a hand to her waist, getting serious. "Thank you."

A little frown creases her forehead and she loses that easy amused air. "For?"

"You know," he gestures to the bed (and yes, he's pathetic for not being able to say it aloud).

The smile is back, coy and pleased. "Well, thank you." Cal grins and she presses a kiss against his smiling mouth. She tells him she's going to go and get dressed (he's disappointed she's not going to get naked right here) and that she'll be back in a minute. He hears her on the stairs as he goes to use the bathroom himself. Then he swings himself down to the kitchen and starts with making coffee. Gillian seems pleased enough when she comes (she gives his waist a squeeze, both hands on each side) and goes to get mugs.

She smells really amazing.

Cal pours coffee while Gillian gets ingredients from the fridge. She cooks and Cal stands near her watching; they both sip at coffee. Gillian's mostly silent as she works but she's flirty and that is what draws Cal near (plus, she touches him every so often and he's not going to swing away from that). She does make occasional comments, about laundry and other mundane things, but Cal doesn't mind it much. The important bit is that it feels comfortable, and he doesn't feel like a grumpy frustrated asshole (orgasms really _do_ do a lot for mood).

Gillian serves up and they go through to the dining room to eat in more comfortable silence. Gillian carries Cal's plate for him but when he approaches the table he realises it's the perfect height for him to bend her over it (he thinks he might be able to manage that and it sounds preferable to her always on top of him. Note the _always_ part.)

"Ok?" Gillian asks him with an amused look in her eye.

Cal realises she's already sitting, fork in hand, while he's standing by his place setting, eyes glazed, fantasising about screwing her against the furniture. "Yeah," he sits hurriedly (hurriedly for him anyway, which still involves some odd manoeuvring and banging his plaster against the wooden table. But he is actually getting better at it).

Breakfast is good but conversation is light. Cal's not entirely sure what to say now after the sexy bits. It's not embarrassing or weird, it's just... They've had a weird week and it's basically swung around a hundred and eighty degrees and he's not sure of his footing again. It feels better, but he thinks it's probably not 'fixed'. Gillian doesn't bring it up and it was never his intention to (he was going to show her, rather than tell her, because he's not sure she would believe him if he used words).

When they fall into silence he pushes on to tell her about attempting to wash his own hair (and mostly failing) and Gillian studies him all over (which makes him feel squirmy and he has to look away; which also unsettles him because he's not used to being under scrutiny that he can't handle) and she casually offers to help him do it properly. Cal agrees (he's not _not_ going to have her completely undivided attention) and then asks about her job to take the heat off of him (because he keeps trying to picture her face while he's got his fingers inside her and then with her head in his lap and normally that wouldn't bother him at all, but there's the whole three-times-no-orgasm thing still hanging over them and now they haven't dealt with it. Which, he admits, maybe he was hoping the bit in bed was going to change. However, it hasn't instigated a conversation. So. Now it's strange again. But for a different reason. Or maybe it's just strange for him. Gillian doesn't seem to be having a problem with this. And even that kind of annoys him a bit. She's far more frustrating than he originally thought. And he needs to calm the hell down lest he let himself get carried away with being grumpy, and also, she's talking, so he should listen).

Gillian actually gives him a bit more details about her new job than she has before and so he's able to ask follow up questions and gets a vague picture of what her new life outside of this house is like. She leaves so damn early in the morning (some mornings) because she has to be available from seven-thirty (!) in case a student needs to talk to her. But on the flip side she can come home early those days too (Cal only noticed that once. Shame on him). She spends most of her time in her office. She tells him whereabouts it's located and who else works there. She seems... happy, talking about it and describing it to him and he feels... jealous and sort of weird. He feels not happy about it. But he's not entirely sure why. Jealous because she gets to leave the house and have a life? Or jealous because she's having a life without him?

Cal watches Gillian eat and talk, tries to imagine her face when she's in the throes of ecstasy; her mouth, on him, and the little dart of her tongue when she puts food past her lips. He thinks about the table again. He thinks about Gillian sitting on it with hardly any clothes on, her thighs around his waist, and that expression again... (he'd rather see it in person than try to drum up an inferior image).

"You're a million miles away?" Gillian says.

"I want to do you on the table," Cal blurts without thinking. If he could have kicked himself, he would have. This is probably not the right to be making requests (and he's not sure he has the right to, seeing as he... has been... selfish-but-not-selfish). He looks over at Gillian and her face is frozen in astonishment. Cal's face feels warm and he hopes he's not blushing. Gillian's eyes flicker down and then back up to meet his while he's trying to think of something to say to cover that slip of the tongue (mmm Gillian's tongue).

"Right now?" She speaks into the silence. "Or can I finish my breakfast?"

Cal laughs, because he can't help it (he's embarrassed. He's never been that crude with Gillian. He's been suggestive, but it's usually been pretty tame) but to his relief, Gillian joins him. Colour rises in her cheeks but she does chuckle. Her eyes flicker back to her plate; she wasn't being serious. Cal wonders if she will take any of what he said seriously. Because he kind of was.

Gillian finishes her food. She gets up and warps an arm around his head, plants a kiss at the side of his eye before leaving the room. She stacks the dishwasher, leaving it for Cal to add his plate and turn on. But by the time he gets to the kitchen (a slow an awkward process while trying to carry something) she's gone again. He hears her upstairs and waits at the stairs for her to come back down, but she doesn't and after a minute he gives up waiting and goes to the couch, slinging himself down in his usual position and closing his eyes. When he holds his breath (which makes it quieter) he can hear the beep of the washing machine. It suddenly occurs to him that he could have done laundry during the week. Just like he could have cooked, to save Gillian from having to do it when she got home from work. He files that way for his plan to be less of a moody prick; he can show her.

"Are you awake?" He hears and then almost immediately. "Or maybe not."

Cal opens his eyes and looks up at Gillian standing over him (who looks just as cute in comfy home clothes and no make-up as she does in work attire and sexy heels). She's looking down at him. "I am," he counters and she gives him a smile. He finds himself returning it and he can't help but think about this morning and just before, at the table (letting slip about the table...). Mostly this morning though, the sound of her desperate voice, the pulse of her hips against his body as she strived towards release, the hotness and wetness; it's almost like they'd had sex for the first time (like how it should have been the first time they had sex) and now he can't get it out of his head. And then there was the bit where she shoved him back down to the bed and made an entirely memorable mess of him. He's at risk of his body suddenly revealing too much. And maybe he already has given something away in his face, because Gillian's expression changes and she wets her lips and there's something dirty and hungry in her eyes.

She moves slowly, gives him warning, but she's still quickly straddling over his chest and leaning down to kiss him, her hands planted on his shoulders, her short hair falling against his cheek. He brings his hands to her jaw (has to hurriedly struggle his broken one out from the back of the couch) and caresses her skin, holds her hair out of his face, pulls her a little closer. She doesn't kiss him chastely, she gets into it right away, but nor is it vulgar; it's intense, it's purposeful; it turns him on a little more. She gives a hum against his mouth and pushes her nose into the side of his as she opens her mouth further. She tastes of mint and hints of coffee and she smells clean and enticing. Cal feels warm all over and just as he realises he's forgotten to breathe and needs air, Gillian breaks away from him with a heavy sigh, kissing along his cheek, her breath hot against his skin until she reaches his ear. She uses her tongue to trace around the ridges of cartilage, making him flinch hard and hitch his breath. There's a groan escaping out of his throat before he can help it but Gillian doesn't hesitate or gloat, she keeps going.

Cal uses his left hand to pull at the sweatshirt she's wearing, finding the slight gap where it ends and her stomach is beneath (has to squish in there because she's pressing against him) and drags fingers over the bare, hot skin there. Gillian presses down with her hips against his ribs, gripping with her thighs, and when he gains a bit more of his senses and realises he can bury his face into her neck (because she's leaning so low) and use his tongue too (two can play that game) it's Gillian who's whispering little moans right into his ear. It's hot. It's seriously hot. She's so... damn... she's just hot. He could fantasise about her for the rest of his life.

How come it wasn't like this before?

What had he missed?

Aside from the obvious bit (yeah, yeah, he gets it), how come it wasn't like this from the start? From their very first kiss? Had he misread the timing of that night? Maybe he was meant to take her out to dinner and a romantic walk along the river (there was a river here in Boulder, wasn't there?) or a park or something (like he was going to walk with her anywhere right now). The fact that he had a broken leg put the kibosh on that so he had gone for a back up. He thought they had been getting closer, she was in bed with him, she was practically leaning all over him, so he had gone for it (but maybe that had been wrong?). And yet, Gillian hadn't been complaining. She had kissed him back (heatedly). And she was the one to start exploring and taking clothes off.

But that doesn't explain why Gillian's kissing him this way _now_, instead of then, and it doesn't explain why she was the one to move them along towards the bit where they were no long making out and were instead actually screwing. She had done that; she took charge. So he had assumed she was ready (maybe they hadn't fooled around long enough? Probably, actually, probably. But she could have stopped him, she could have insisted on more; he would have done anything she asked.) If he wasn't physically limited, he might have insisted on a bit more touching (to be fair, if he wasn't physically restrained like he is now, he would have absolutely been in there, on his knees in front of her. He would _definitely_ get down on his knees for her. No doubt). He would have taken a bit more control himself; made sure she was already crying out his name before he took anything for himself.

He doesn't know why he's still going over it. He can't change the past, only the future and he's already promised himself he will.

He's still partially (mostly) at Gillian's mercy now. She's mobile and on top of him, sitting on his chest (which at least means she's nice and close. He can use his right hand to grip into the back of her knee). He'd like to turn her over, press her down into the couch, but the sheer, ludicrous half thought of him attempting that stays his place. It's frustrating, but he starts to see that this hasn't all been his fault. And he kind of tried to make it better. And that might have worked, because Gillian's here now, clearly wanting more (that is most definitely a good thing) and Cal starts to let himself off the hook. He wants to go with this new moment, the seriously hot kissing (Gillian goes back to his mouth, relentless, her hips grinding, her tongue deep and thorough), and pretend the disastrous other attempts at sex haven't even occurred. He might not actually be up for much right now (he's older than he used to be... it's harder. Or not, as the case may be) but that doesn't mean he can't do things for her. Over and over and over...

He really would like to make love to her though. When he's thought about them being together for the first time (and yes, he's thought about it before. Extensively), he imagined it more like this (hot and a little desperate), and much less like those other times (yes, that might be a little arrogant of him, and yes, he's let himself off the hook completely. He's not saying Gillian's at fault. But she did take charge). This is Gillian. Their chemistry has been fantastic. It was meant to be like _this_. Not like _that_.

"Cal," Gillian murmurs against his mouth. Cal pushes up with his hips (connects with nothing, because she's not there, but hah! This time, he only put pressure on his left unbroken leg), reaches with his left hand (he's trying to get to breast but the angle is not quite right) and follows her mouth when she breaks away to look down at him. Her eyes are dark and her cheeks a little red and somehow her hair has gotten sexily tossed; god she looks incredible. He wants her. He wants her so badly. Please let her want him as well.

"Gillian," Cal whispers back into the short gap before her mouth is back on his. Mmm damn she feels so good. He skirts fingers around her ribs, falling into that subconscious rhythm of kissing and caressing, building the heat within them both. He can't understand why it wasn't like this from the start, but he knows that this is how amazing it's meant to be (and the little preview in bed this morning is a very good goal to strive for; but he definitely wants to knock it out of the park).

A knock at the door has him disrupted and as he hesitates Gillian picks up on it and draws away, a questioning expression in her eye. "Door," Cal murmurs and Gillian is entertainingly confused for a few seconds. Then there's another knock and something else comes over her, that slight hesitation and worry (it seems for a moment there, both of them managed to forget that they're in hiding). Gillian swings off him, grabbing at her top to return it to place, smoothing back her hair (it's a little disappointing that she seems to get a grip on herself so easily. Cal wants to be able to completely disarm her. He wants to be the most amazing thing that ever happened to her.)

"Hi," Gillian answers the door with a smile in her tone (Cal can't see, but he can hear) and there's a responding female voice. Cal can't quite catch her words but he picks up on enough of it from Gillian to decipher the conversation (and he can tell it's nothing to worry about). The woman at the door is a neighbour (obviously one Gillian has met before, because she's very friendly). She's telling Gillian about something and inviting her (and probably Cal too) to attend. Gillian is gracious (and maybe a little pleased. Which doesn't bode well for Cal) and makes agreement type statements, while also possibly leaving herself an out if she needs it. Gillian thanks the woman for coming over. She says goodbye and closes the door. Cal shifts himself into a sitting position (turning to put his cast on the coffee table), somehow knowing the chances of finishing what they started are slim. Gillian comes back into the room with a smile and Cal feels wary.

"That was Mary-Ann," Gillian tells him.

Cal does a blank. Is he meant to know who Mary-Ann is?

"Our neighbour from across the road?" Gillian prompts as she pushes him back by the shoulder so he's resting against the back of the couch. She kneels on the cushion to straddle across his thighs and Cal thinks his chances of continuing the making out/feeling up might have suddenly greatly increased their odds. He looks up at her, sees the question on her face, remembers that she was asking him a question. Mary-Ann from across the street. Grocery/casserole lady.

"Right," he nods.

"They're having a barbeque dinner this afternoon and invited us over."

'_Sounds horrendous_,' Cal thinks to himself. He keeps his face neutral for Gillian though because one, he can tell she likes the idea and two, he half suspects she's going to make him go (if he can't think of a good reason why not quickly enough).

"What do you think?" She goes on.

Cal takes a second to breathe. How to handle this?

"You don't want to?" Gillian asks him anyway.

"Isn't it a bit cold to be eating outside?"

Gillian shrugs. "They're celebrating that we didn't get any more snow."

"Could snow today."

"It's not forecast," Gillian sing-songs with a smile.

"Well that doesn't mean anything," Cal counters bluntly, an amused expression of his own.

"Do you want to come?" Gillian asks again and her tone has lost its teasing.

"Not really."

"Ok," Gillian says, just as neutral as she was a moment ago. Cal isn't sure what to do with that at all. It's implied so heavily in the air that he should go, and yet Gillian isn't demanding it, isn't making a scene, isn't manipulating him. But she kind of is. Because if he says he isn't going then she will get mad at him and they just seemed to have gotten over the silent treatment bit. And if he goes then he's going to hate it and be all miserable about having to stand on his broken leg for most of the evening (she'll probably say she'll make sure to find him a chair. And she will, but that's not the point) and make small talk with people he doesn't know and will probably be bored shitless.

All of that in just one look on her face.

Cal sighs. "Fine I'll go."

"No that's ok, if you don't want to go," Gillian responds casually. "But I'm going to. So I'm going to make a pasta salad to take." She goes to shift off him (moving carefully so she doesn't crush her weight into the small surface area of his un-plastered thigh) but Cal stops her with a hand on her arm.

"I'll go," he repeats.

"You just said you didn't want to go."

"Yes," he agrees, but it feels like a trap. And he notices just how odd this situation has become. He and Gillian have fallen into 'old married couple' territory. Gillian who was, until a month ago, just his business partner and (best) friend. Who he also was secretly in love with (still is, he thinks... or knows...) and hiding from everyone. He wanted to be with her and now that he is he finds it surreal and unmanageable. They're doing this whole thing backwards and he's not sure he's comfortable with that (they also went from crappy sex to hot oral sex when isn't it meant to be the other way around?). "But, do you want me to go?"

"Sure. I'd like that," Gillian says. She studies him for a moment and he flounders because... because... where's the bit where she argues that he has to be social for her and make an effort and if he expects to get any then he's going to do what she suggests? And it _is_ just a suggestion. He can stay here if he wants to. But then he's definitely going to be in the dog box, he just knows it. But Gillian doesn't say any of that normal stuff and Cal can't seem to find it in her demeanour, even though he looks. She seems genuinely content to go to the neighbour thing on her own and Cal doesn't like it. Maybe he'd like to be begged a little. Maybe that's a shitty way to behave. He doesn't really know what to do. He's not encountered this before. He hopes it gets easier, between them, he hopes this whole thing gets better.

"Cal," Gillian gives a frustrated sigh. "Why is this so hard?" She asks quietly.

Is she reading his thoughts?

"You either want to go, or you don't," Gillian finishes.

Maybe she isn't reading his thoughts.

Because the thing is, he doesn't know.

Cal almost asks her to beg him but that's really not right. He wants to go to be with her, but he doesn't want to go for all the other patience-trying conversations he's going to have to have. Actually, that's not half bad. "I want to spend the evening with you. So if you're going to be across the road, then I guess I will be too," he says.

Gillian watches him a second and then her expression softens micro-fractionally and she gives a slight little smile that she feels the need to smother against his mouth. She gives him a tight kiss, her fingers against his jaw as she leans into him and then pulls back, amused but kind of resigned. "Good save," she notes and does get up this time. "Want to help me make something?" She asks casually as she leaves the room.

"No," Cal calls after her. He hears the huff of her laugh and sits silently for a moment. He can't help but feel as though he's been played, but he can't quite see how. He's meant to make a decision but the decision should be the one that she wanted? Does it matter? He did tell her the truth though: he wants to be where she is. And he's trying to be less of a moody bastard. So... Good.

Then he pushes himself to get up and follow her into the kitchen anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

This is how Cal justifies it to himself: he loves her.

That covers a multitude of fine print sins. He makes small talk with people he doesn't know (and politely, despite a myriad of interesting twists of facial muscles that makes him want to aggressively startled someone into confessing) because he loves Gillian. He doesn't grumble about the ache of his leg or the embarrassingly awkward way he has to move with his crutches and broken limbs (until Gillian rescues him with a chair. And everyone gives him shit for it, because there's something childishly fascinating about a woman coming to his crippled rescue. He takes it good naturedly though) because he loves her. He puts up with the probing questions about who he is and what he does for a living (well, before he wrote himself off in his 'skiing' accident), questions he can't answer properly (because he's not prepared) or truthfully, because he loves Gillian.

He loves her. He keeps reminding himself of that. He loves her, so it's worth putting on fake smiles and the like, and making up stories about having a boring office job, because Gillian stays close to him all evening (maybe in reward. Maybe to keep tabs on him. He doesn't know. He doesn't think they can leverage sex against each other at this point in their sexual history. Him being up five orgasms to Gillian's one) and even when he's relegated to a chair, she brings him food and beers and doesn't even really wander away too far (she's within grabbing distance); she makes them come to her (and they do, because she's funny and gracious and there's something about her that draws people in).

The truth is, he knows how to behave like a grown up and he knows that these things are important to Gillian and that if he wants to show her he cares then he has to do them too (because she's almost always done the things he's wanted to. Or maybe those don't count too much because they weren't sleeping with each other back then?) And really, it's not so bad. He was quick to deride these small-town people before he knew them, but host Steven can point to websites he's built that Cal knows (and has actually used) and his wife Mary-Ann is fantastically funny (and she spends almost two hours talking to Cal while he's parked on his ass). He constantly turns attention away from himself (because, well, what is he going to say anyway? Me? Oh I'm in witness protection) and Mary-Ann happily talks about herself. She calls her children over to meet him and they seem nice enough, polite and well brought up and all that (the boy Luke even insists on a left-handed shake). They go to the school where Gillian is a guidance counsellor and reluctantly admit, when their mother presses, that they've seen her around the halls.

They meet other people on the block and old friends of Steven and Mary-Ann (Cal thinks they said their last name was Porter) from when they used to live in another neighbourhood of Boulder. By the end of the night Cal knows far too much about them (more than he'd ever care, and still doesn't care, to know) but he does admit the evening is nice (the food is great and he's probably had a few too many beers, to be honest) and he doesn't feel grumpy about being there. Sometimes, when he looks over, he sees Gillian watching him, no matter where she is in the front yard (the Porter's have opened up their garage and turned the drive into a banquet, and even though it is cold, it's not entirely unbearable with a thick winter jacket and hat on) and when he catches her eye she does something cute like wave, or smile and one time, when she thinks no one else is looking (and no one else _is_, as far as Cal can tell) she gives him a lewd expression (it was suggestive. Of her. Her mouth. His body part. Say no more). When people start to drift off Gillian is quick with suggesting they go home. Cal agrees (kind of still thinking about the lewd suggestion that involved her tongue poking into her cheek to create a bulge).

At least they only have to go across the road. Cal spends more time walking on his broken leg than avoiding it, so when he gets back to the house he's sweaty and aching and maybe feeling a little agitated (alcohol can go either way). Gillian unlocks the door and pushes it open for him, then leans her shoulder on the frame to let him go in first. When he swings himself by her, she grabs at his bicep. Cal stops abruptly on the threshold to look at her; what does she want? She leans in to give him a kiss, shifting the hand to pet the hair at the back of his head. Then she gives him a smile that makes Cal feel funny inside and encourages him into the house. Cal doesn't want to get cocky about it, but he suddenly thinks his chances of getting laid tonight are pretty good (it would go a long way to make up for the interruption this morning).

He's not wrong about the sex either. But instead of their (what could be described as) usual habit of him lying on the bed and Gillian climbing on top of him, she makes him stand in the bedroom (with one crutch to help keep his balance) while she slowly undresses him. And then she gets down on her knees and the bit about suggestion is not a suggestion anymore. She takes him to the brink and then she stands and kisses his neck softly as he calms down again. She times it perfectly, because just as he's ready to suggest (beg) they do it now, she pulls back and tells him to get into bed. She leaves the room and Cal's disappointed, but complies with her request. He sits on the bed and he waits. Gillian's back within a minute, the box of condoms in her hand. She takes one out and flicks it at him, then puts the rest of the box in the drawer by the bed, telling him that that's probably a better home for them. Cal agrees. He goes to put the condom on as Gillian starts taking her clothes off. He gets distracted because she adds an extra shimmy to her movements, making it almost like a dance (a private little strip tease).

When she's ready (and she has to tell him to hurry up), she guides his left hand to her thigh, right up high, and he takes a hint. He gets to watch her face this time, every exquisite detail (and a very nice view of her body). Oh, and there is so much to see. So expressive and her eyes so dark. And she's not shy about giving him little hints as to what he should do or try, and combined with the little bit of experience he gained last night, Cal thinks he does a pretty good job of it... (excuse the pun). Before he can tip her over the edge though, she tears his hand away and grabs him, lowering herself down over his hips. Cal can feel the shudder of her body and the expression on her face (eyes nearly rolled back) has got to be close to his own pleasure. It's not perfect (they still stumble a little and lose their rhythm, juxtaposing against each other), but it's hot and exciting and their best effort yet (and he's glad that she actually _tells_ him what he should do).

And Gillian definitely orgasms this time.

**PJ**

Mmm Sunday is the best day for warm sex-the-night-before lie-ins. Gillian still wakes early (early, even though she's overslept by an hour) but this time she doesn't care if she wakes Cal too. She snuggles into him, moving his arm out of the way so she can get in close against his chest (naked chest), then presses her breasts up against him (naked breasts) and drops a hand low to his hip (naked hip), brushes her fingers against the bone. It's not necessarily about the orgasm part (although that is pretty _great!_) It's the part where they connected. Where Cal came across the road to meet the neighbours with her and was pleasant and... she was kind of proud of him. Because he didn't complain, didn't even look grumpy (might have looked like he was enjoying himself).

It's not just about the orgasm part. It just feels like everything's changed. On Thursday, when she got home, he was cooking and was pleasant. And then on Friday he was down again and borderline hostile. Yesterday morning, even though she sort of started it, he took charge and used his... hand and... then there was also later that night. It feels like they're on the same page. She's not going to smother him and he's going to try and meet her half way and that feels about right for them right now. The situation has been stressful and tedious and they're coming into the third week since the explosion (god, really? has it been that long?) and maybe they're starting to let go of their old lives and moving on with the new?

Gillian's repositioning of Cal wakes him enough to squirm against her a little; he tilts his head against hers, pressing his jaw against her cheek. She stays still and it seems he goes back to sleep, however, eventually, she needs the bathroom and when she extricates herself from him, he wakes properly. They both get up and go through a quiet morning routine, bathroom swapping, coffee, food; it's snowing, which means they're going to be housebound (again), though being housebound with a suddenly sexually pleasing Cal might not be an entirely bad thing. So long as it wasn't a one off.

Gillian takes a shower (upstairs) and when she comes back down she can't find Cal. It spikes some fear to her heart (and her first thought is not that he's gone out, but that something has happened to him). She calls out and he yells back and she finds him in the bathroom (she knocks on the closed door). She doesn't know what to say though. Kind of embarrassing to pry into his bathroom time.

"Just having a wash love," Cal says to relieve her.

"Ok," Gillian says and goes to leave him to it.

"Thought you might do my hair?"

Gillian has to backtrack a few steps, but she did hear him through the door. "Yeah sure, if you want me to."

"My own attempt was abysmal," Cal goes on.

Gillian leans against the wall. She remembers his hair was wet the other night, yes, and that he smelt like soap, but she hadn't particularly noticed his hair wasn't clean.

"You can come in," Cal continues.

Gillian straightens up and twists the knob and her stomach does something weird when she sees him. He has no shirt on and just his briefs (it seems like so much white plaster cast exposed without clothes on, even though his clothes were by no means covering it up before now) and he's sitting on the closed toilet seat. There's no bath down here, just the shower cubicle, but it does, at least, have a nozzle that can be detached so that could make it easier. Not that Gillian's sure how she's going to do this.

"Ideas?" Cal asks her.

Making him get on the ground is going to be tough. When there was a bath, there was something for him to lean against. And getting him back off the ground seems cruel. "Chair from the dining room?" Gillian suggests.

"All right. I'll robe up."

Gillian smiles in amusement and goes to retrieve the furniture. When she comes back, Cal has gotten towels to cover his casts with. Gillian puts the chair as close to the edge of the shower tray as she can get it. Cal hops to sit and she turns on the water, taking the nozzle down from its height. Cal tilts his head back as far as he can and Gillian guides the water and it seems to work (his hair gets clean and his casts don't get wet. And he manages to flirt with her too. But they don't talk about last night or anything that matters).

After that Cal goes to sit on the couch, complaining his neck hurts. Gillian tidies up the bathroom (mops up the spilt water on the floor) and then follows him with a towel to rub his hair dry. He's got his leg stretched out on the cushions so she climbs in against his back, making him sit forward so she can fit. He protests a little at the start but it doesn't last long, not when she's pressing up against his back and massaging his scalp and then tugging on his earlobe with her teeth, breathing in, telling him he smells good in a husky whisper.

Oh how she teases him.

"Cal?"

"Huh?" His eyes snap open; wasn't aware they had closed.

"Last night was really great."

"Yeah it was," Cal agrees.

Gillian plants a kiss at the side of his head. "Can I do anything else for you?"

That sounded like a lewd suggestion.

"Nah I'm all right."

Gillian untangles herself from him (he doesn't help, it's much more fun to try and tickle her thighs) and returns the towel to the bathroom. When she comes back she squishes herself onto the couch next to him, so she's half lying on him, a leg hooked over his knees, and it's easy between them, peaceful. They watch the snow for a bit. Watch a movie. Have a light dinner and go to bed early (only to fool around). It's a good day, settled and without conflict or tension. Gillian really does feel as though it's a turning point. But tomorrow is another day. And Cal is a rollercoaster.

**PJ**

Gillian rushes into the main building of Boulder High, shoulders hunched against the falling snow. It started up just before she left the house and now it's coming down thick and fast; dropping visibility to a few meters (lucky she wasn't too far from her destination). She pets the wetness into her hair as she goes along the corridor (to try and stop the frizz from forming), smiling hello to the staff she's starting to recognise who don't work in her immediate vicinity (it's too early for any number of students to be there). She's dusting more flakes off her coat as she gets to her office and unlocks the door, turns the lights on, puts down her coffee (was running a bit late this morning. Cal kept her up too late last night). She takes off her coat, turns on her computer, settles in with the cardboard coffee cup against her chest as she checks her messages.

There's a general broadcast about what's coming up for the school in the week ahead and a response from the University of California about a course a student was interested in taking; Gillian writes out a note for that student to come and see her in the third period. She makes times to see two other students in the late afternoon as well, then takes all three slips to the outbox (where they'll be passed on to the runner to be delivered).

"Good morning," a male voice greets her.

Gillian turns to see Reece. His dark coat is dusted with snowflakes, his cheeks are red, matching the scarf around his neck. He's a good looking man. Early thirties, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. His smile is easy and creates dimples in his cheeks. He's been friendly since she started, and helps her out when she's not sure what she's doing or where to go next. His office is next to hers and sometimes she can hear the rumble of his voice through the wall. He's been there a year, and was the newest employee until Gillian started. Now she's the newbie and he's having fun no longer getting the raw end of a deal if there is one (no one seems to care that Gillian is actually the most qualified of them all, with her doctorate. She doesn't mind it though, it's friendly ribbing; it's better for her to just go with it, than try to shove her weight around).

"Good morning," Gillian repeats with a friendly smile.

"How was your weekend?"

"Good," Gillian responds automatically (it's not a lie. It was a fantastic weekend). She thinks back to Cal, the weekend, the way he was sprawled in bed this morning when she quietly snuck out. "Yours?" She carries on without hesitation, even though she's now thinking about last night.

"Great," Reece responds with a winning smile (Gillian hasn't figured out yet if he's taken. They haven't had that much personal conversation). He starts to unwrap his scarf as he walks towards his office. "Glad the weather held off." (The snow on Sunday didn't stay around, just came down for a few hours and disappeared a few hours later.)

"Mm," Gillian agrees, turning back for her office as well. Apart from the barbeque across the road with the neighbours, she didn't leave the house (or bed) much; the truth is, she might not have noticed. Reece fishes for his keys and Gillian goes back to her desk. Within the hour she's busy, students back-to-back, phone calls. She meets with Jerome (Manning, not Willis...) but he's still silent on her. She talks to him for a while but then feels like she's talking _at_ him and so goes quiet, notes down her observations and waits out the hour with him, sitting opposite him in the silent room.

And then dread. She's asked to substitute a 'life education' class before lunch. A teacher has called in sick. She's the most junior in the guidance suit. She's given half an hour to read through the lesson's material. At least this is a class with a set plan; she just might be able to bluff her way through it. When the bell goes to signal the start of the fourth period (or lunch, for half the student body), Gillian gets up from her desk and heads out into the hall.

As soon as she steps out of the guidance suit she can hear the thrum of a hundred teenage voices and the sharp slams of locker doors in the next hallway over. She pulls open the double doors at the end of the administrative section of the building and confronts the noise head on. She's ignored as she walks down the hall, glancing up at the classroom numbers to make sure she's going in the right direction (she's barely ventured out of the guidance suite before now). She rounds the corner, the students parting to let her walk past (she's ignored, but not disrespected) and bangs straight into somebody.

"Bloody hell."

It's Cal.

"Are you ok?" She asks him, astonished, reaching out for his shoulder to steady him as he struggles with her knocking him off balance (he manages to hold onto his crutches though; he's got skills). "What are you doing here?" Adolescents now part around the both of them and she's not accusing, she's just surprised to see him there (and out of the house).

"Came to have lunch," Cal hops a little on his left foot, and finally straightens up, looking a little hopeful. He's dressed in jeans and a jacket and has shaved; he looks good (something's different with him).

"I'm sorry," Gillian goes on. "I have to go take a class," she gestures up the hall, which is emptying out.

Cal looks bewildered as he leans down on his crutches. "You're teaching?"

"Babysitting," Gillian corrects. The hallway gets quieter and a second bell rings.

Cal is thoughtful for a split second. "Isn't it lunchtime?" He makes to look at his wrist (but unless he's taken himself shopping, he doesn't have a watch anymore).

"Not for me. I take lunch in the second period. But you could wait for me?"

Cal gives a huff. "How long are you going to be?"

"Forty minutes."

Cal straightens up again. "Oh all right. That's not so bad."

"You could wait in my office," she gives him hurried directions. The hallway is empty and now she's late.

"All right," Cal agrees and Gillian steps around him to walk away (resisting the urge to kiss him before leaving). She barely hears the tap of his swinging gait as her heels clip on the hallway floor. She rounds another corner and finds her class and strides into the room, head high; teenagers can smell fear...

It's actually not as bad as she feared. It's a group of about fifteen fifteen year old girls and even though some of them are sitting on the desks while on their phones, the noise isn't so bad; there's no riot. Her simply entering the room gets their attention and when she asks the girls to take a seat, they do so promptly. She explains that she's going to take over the class for the period while their regular teacher is out and there's not scoffing or objection; so far so good.

"So," Gillian starts taking the seat from behind the teacher's desk and dragging it around so she's sitting in front of it, so she's level with the other young women. "Does someone want to catch me up on what you were talking about last week?" That's where she gets some sniggers, because, well, no one really wants to put up their hand and announce to the room (and in front of their friends) they were talking about ejaculation or thrush, or something else equally embarrassing.

"Generally?" Gillian queries a little warily. She knows the topic. She knows the lesson plan. But that doesn't mean that she knows exactly what was discussed last time; conversation tends to be free flowing.

A hand rises cautiously into the air. "Yes?" Gillian prompts. Eyes turn to the girl in the second row with light brown hair.

"Uh we were talking about condoms."

Gillian wants to ask 'what about them' but figures that's about as good as she's going to get. She can feel the atmosphere in the room is different; they're not sure of her and she doesn't know them. Another girl by the window has gone red and she's having a hard time meeting Gillian's eye. The other girls are looking at furniture and at their hands (and at Gillian's shoes) and she suddenly remembers what it was like for her in school, talking about this kind of stuff back in the eighties (gasp) and it wasn't any easier back then either.

"So you guys talked about how effective they are for pregnancy and STDs?"

There are nods.

"Did you get to practice putting one on?"

Nods. And sniggers. The girl by the window goes redder, poor thing.

"With bananas?" Gillian goes on.

"We got these wooden..." one girl in the front row speaks up with a look of disgust. Her hair is so long she's practically sitting on it. "Things," she finishes. The other girls laugh and at least relax a little.

Gillian smiles herself. "We got bananas."

"They didn't have wooden thingies back in your day miss?" Another girl in the front row asks.

"Uh no, only the boys got any wooden thingies," Gillian quips and the group breaks out in laughter (some more confident than others. The girl by the window seems to chuckle quietly). "Ok, so you know how they go on and what they're supposed to do, but did you talk about in which situations you should be using them?"

"Uh that would be sex," the same girl says.

"Right, that would be the obvious one," Gillian answers. She inclines her head and the girl tells her her name. "But, Annabeth, what does sex entail exactly."

Annabeth looks put out, with half an eye roll in there, like she's going to have to explain what sex is to a three year old, but Gillian jumps in again. "I'm not just talking about actual intercourse sex," her cheeks feel warm. She so hopes she's not blushing. "What about oral sex? Do you use a condom then?"

The girls look baffled and no one volunteers an answer. So Gillian plunges on and after a while they warm to her and start asking more questions, volunteering more answers, solutions and ideas.

They move on to talk about condom negotiation and then another moment that makes Gillian's cheeks feel warm: Annabeth asks her about Cal. Or, more accurately, 'the guy she lives with'.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Lucy asks (the girl with the really long hair. A popular girl, from what Gillian can deduce, or, at least, confident. She and Annabeth have done most of the talking today).

"That's personal," Gillian tries (because really, she doesn't know what to do in this kind of situation. Usually, in a session with a patient who tries to glean personal information, she just shuts it down. They're not there to talk about her. But this is a high school. She's not sure the same rules apply).

"Go on Miss, you're not wearing a ring, so you're not married," Annabeth immediately jumps in (she's bolshy).

Gillian looks down at her hand, startled. No, she's not wearing a wedding ring and it hasn't occurred to her before now to even think about it (plus, glancing down at her hand like that has just given away... something. It gives the girls confidence). The girls press her again, the scent of blood in the water. Gillian wants to argue with them, be coy, but really, these kids are not quite adults yet and she is and that demands a little bit of respect: she doesn't have to answer to them. "Never mind him," Gillian dismisses. "We're talking about the decisions you make."

"But if he's your boyfriend," Lucy says thoughtfully. "Did you guys talk about condoms?"

Gillian's thrown off by that question too, but not as much as the wedding ring comment. She tries to keep it vague, says that of course she uses and talks about condoms with every man she's with in an intimate way (which is true) because she respects her body and her health. But what isn't entirely the truth is that while she's talked about it with every guy she's been with (even when she was a teenager, not that she always got her way. Which was stupid, but in the past now) she hasn't talked to Cal about it. There has been no condom negotiation because neither of them have protested using them; there was nothing to discuss, it was implied.

Kind of like a lot of their relationship in the last few weeks actually.

The girls seem satisfied enough with that answer and then the bells goes to signal the end of the period (a really long forty minutes...) and they get up to go. Gillian does the same, putting the chair back where she got it, thinking she might not have done too badly after all. Some of the girls say goodbye to her and the poor girl by the window with a tendency to blush, whose name Gillian didn't catch, comes up to offer a quick thank you, before quickening out of the room. Gillian smiles at her back, waits for the last girls to traipse out, and then merges into the stream of bodies in the hallway. She's forgotten completely about Cal until she gets back

to her office (the secretary gives her a bright knowing kind of smile, like she knows something that Gillian doesn't) and finds him sitting on the couch waiting for her (that explains the smile then).

"Hey," Cal greets her, looking bored (but perking up).

"Did you eat?" Gillian crosses to her desk, dumping the paperwork she had taken with her, but not used. She suddenly realises something else: all that talk of condoms and she's done things for Cal without using them. It didn't even occur to her; and she was encouraging those girls a moment ago to keep themselves safe.

"Uh, I didn't actually bring any food with me."

Gillian looks over at him, his broken leg on the little table in front of the couch. "Okay, what happened?"

His casts have been replaced. They're both black now. And much thinner. Fibreglass, she would guess. Cal grins, raises his hand to wave as Gillian approaches. "I knew you didn't notice before."

"I was kind of distracted."

"Yeah did you have fun with your sex ed class?" Cal's tone is light with teasing.

Gillian stands in front of him, a hand on her hip, giving him a disparaging expression. "How do you know?"

Surely, he couldn't have read that off her face?

"And you're changing the subject," she adds.

"Mary told me," Cal answers (the guidance suite's secretary) Gillian just knows he completely wooed her (which might make Gillian feel a little jealous). She sits on the table next to his encased ankle and tweaks his exposed big toe. When Cal flinches, his whole limb lifts off the table and he winces. "All right, all right. It's been three weeks. Had to go in for a check up."

"And they redid your casts?"

"They took x-rays," Cal goes on. "Arm is healing fine, can get the cast off completely soon and leg is..." he trails off.

"Leg is what?" Gillian jumps in.

"Leg is too."

Gillian narrows her eyes at him. "Really?"

"It's taking a bit longer than the arm."

Gillian suspects there's more to it than that. "Because?"

"It was a worse break."

Gillian rolls her eyes, but she's not interested in pushing him. The conversation could go around in circles for hours if she continues to play. So she gives it up and stands, thinking they should go get some lunch, maybe from the cafeteria (she's not sure they have time to go off campus now).

"It's a worse break and I've kind of not really been taking it easy," Cal finishes anyway. Gillian stops and looks down at him, surprised he volunteered, but hopefully not giving that away. Cal looks a little sheepish, then meets her eye. It's a confession. It might even be a concession. She has no idea what to say to that (she's not much one for rubbing it in) but it seems Cal is waiting for a response from her (this could be a test).

"You'll have to get more calcium," she says haltingly. "Milk for breakfast."

"Yeah," Cal agrees with a slight twitch of his mouth (that might have been the start of a smile).

Gillian goes to her desk again (for want of somewhere to go, since she was on her feet) and once there decides to get out the lunch she made for herself that morning. Cal watches her as she comes back over to offer him half a sandwich. He takes it carefully with his left hand, she assumes because it's not his given hand, and their fingers brush. It makes her chest flutter. It really does. And she hesitates leaning over him and there's the urge to straddle his lap and kiss him. She's not sure what it is, that he's dressed or that he's just out of the house (or maybe because he took the time to come and see her. Specifically).

"Next time," Cal says around a polite mouthful of bread. "I'll bring food with me."

"We could go down to the cafeteria," Gillian offers, taking a perch on the edge of her desk.

"No I meant, I won't show up to an impromptu lunch date empty handed. I forget that you're..." He hesitates and Gillian looks over at him curious. "Not working... That you have to take a set lunch time."

He means that she's not working for herself/ with him anymore.

They get quiet. Gillian finishes her sandwich. Cal licks mayonnaise off his thumb. Gillian imagines him doing dirty things to her on that couch. She's really got to stop that.  
>"Hey Gillian?"<p>

She turns to the door quickly, straightens up a little. It's Reece. He comes in, distracted, eyes down on a folder in his hands. "Did you get the...?" And then he looks up, sees her and Cal on the couch. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't realise you were with someone."

Cal clears his throat a little and shifts and Gillian's attention is drawn to him. It's hard to read the expression on his face, but it looks somewhere between unimpressed and aggressive.

"It's ok," Gillian tells him as he turns to leave again. "The?" She prompts.

"Uh," Reece hesitates, eyeing up Cal now, who is staring at him from his seat. Gillian imagines them brawling on the ground. "Indiana Tech?"

"Yeah sure," Gillian starts to go around her desk. "Cal this is Reece, he works in the guidance suite with me," Gillian says as she starts to retrieve the enrolment forms. Reece says hi.

"I'm Cal," he says from the couch and there's something in his tone that is facetious. Gillian wonders if he does his finger wave to indicate he can't (or won't shake hands) but her back is to the room while she hunts for the forms Reece was looking for (she got some in for a student of hers; she figures Reece needs some too). "Gillian's complication," Cal adds and Gillian fumbles the papers in her hand. When she turns around Reece and Cal are almost standing off (they would be, if they were being more overt about this weird little display of machismo. And Cal could stand).

Gillian takes the forms back to Reece, half guides him to the door to get rid of him, while wondering what Cal's problem is, and why he had to say 'complication'. Now he's just complicated the situation. "I'll get these back to you," Reece says but she puts him off; she's got enough copies for herself anyway. "Thanks," Reece gives her a smile as he goes but it's not his thousand watt one she usually gets, and she suddenly realises that he might have been flirting with her this whole time after all. Which means that Cal probably picked up on that in an instant which is why he's got his nose all out of joint.

"Anything else?" Gillian challenges Cal.

He looks bewildered for a second. "He seems nice."

Gillian barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Sometimes he can be so damning annoying.

"What?" Cal presses.

"My complication?" Gillian asks.

"Well. What would you introduce me as?" Cal challenges lightly.

"My," Gillian starts and then stops. Her, what? Acquaintance, friend, partner, roommate, lover, boyfriend, husband... "Complication," she finishes. Cal looks a tiny, little bit smug. But at least it's not full blown (she might have to punch him). "Fine," Gillian grouses.

"So you don't tell people we're?"

"We're what?"

But Cal looks uncomfortable, like he can't answer that question. Or maybe it's that he doesn't know how to anymore than Gillian does.

"Are we having the 'talk'?" Gillian asks, more thinking aloud than demanding an answer out of him. She thinks again of the condoms.

Cal gives her a steady expression for a beat, then agrees, "Maybe?"

Gillian prickles with exquisite anticipation. Not only will this be a very revealing conversation (because she can _not_ work Cal out. He's so up and down all the time. Him just telling her sounds good), it will be the first proper conversation they've had in weeks. _And_, it'll be the first real conversation they've had in years. Even their business discussions had come down to short, sharp arguments in the hallways of the Lightman Group building. Cal has not wanted to talk to her and when he did, she didn't want to talk to him. They' haven't really been at their best for a long while now and this whole witness protection thing has just made that glaringly obvious, at least for Gillian it has.

They're silent for a moment, neither of them wanting to start. Gillian's heart rate steadily increases, along with her body temperature, not sure what he's going to say, not sure what she would say if she had to go first. It's a tricky balance. She wants to protect herself, but she also wants... Well, maybe, if he also wanted to, she would be interested in...

The bell rings.

Cal startles and looks towards the door, then back to her. "That the end of lunch?"

"Yes," Gillian says quietly. Hope fizzles out but she's already in a light sweat. Her mouth feels dry.

Cal stares at her a moment longer but they can't do this now and they both know it. He doesn't show disappointment though. Gillian might have expected relief but there's none of that either. "To be continued?" Cal asks.

"Okay," Gillian agrees. She's actually quite pleased with that, because this would have been a good excuse to conveniently forget about it. He's intimating that he really does want to have the conversation though.

Cal struggles to the edge of the couch, then reaches for his crutches. He stands then tucks them under his arm, and even though he's gone a little red in the face, he does seem quite fluid in his movements, like it's not much effort anymore. Gillian also gets to her feet to walk him to the door. She actually walks all the way to the front entrance with him. They both look out through the glass and then at each other. They're not alone in the main building entrance; aside from the school secretaries there are a few students, teachers, other adults who are possibly parents. It's stopped snowing again (which Gillian figures means Cal's going to have a dry run home).

Gillian has an urge to kiss Cal goodbye, but she doesn't think that's a good idea when her bosses is only a few meters away in their office. Instead, she brushes her hand against his, enough for him to notice, because he looks down where she touched him. And then he casually looks away, around, a loop, meets her eyes and gives her another steady look that makes her feel flushed all over again. It's different.

Something's different.

**PJ**

The rest of the afternoon drags like a glacier in a valley. Gillian stares at the clock so frequently, at one point she's convinced it's gone backwards twenty minutes. There is not enough work in the world to distract her from the fact that she's going to have a conversation with Cal about 'them' (and possibly other things) because it's been such a long time coming that it's now overdue (by years, to be fair. All that flirting needs to be explained. She even gave stronger hints and he still did nothing. Now she needs to know where she stands, where any of this is going).

She is pretty convinced they are actually going to have a discussion. He gave every indication he also wanted to have _the talk_ and she's pretty determined to hold him to it. She doesn't wait for the final bell; she's not obliged to be there after hours today. So she gets her things together and sneaks out five minutes early (she really hopes she's not going to get busted for five minutes). She drives home with a nervous stomach and when she twists her key in the lock it crescendos. Of course, she can get to Cal before he can get to her, and she finds him in the kitchen, looking as though he was heading out of the room. "Oh," he says when she comes in.

"Hi," Gillian responds, putting down her keys and bag on the kitchen counter.

"Dinner's nearly ready," he tells her.

"Ok."

"Then... you wanna talk?"


	12. Chapter 12

Gillian has to get dinner from the oven, but Cal insists on serving up the cheesy pasta concoction (which looks suspiciously like comfort food) even though Gillian has to carry their plates through to the dining room as well. Cal swings after her, a blur of black now instead of white. Gillian has to go back to the kitchen for forks and when she returns to the dining room for the second time, Cal is patiently waiting for her (not that he could start on his meal anyway). He takes his utensil politely and puts it in his right hand (Gillian figures, seeing as he doesn't have to cut his food, that he can manage it; he's been eating left-handed). Gillian takes her seat (her stomach just about audibly growling at this point) and tucks in. It's kind of like mac 'n' cheese but with chicken and maybe the left-overs of their dinner two nights ago (she hopes it was ok before Cal decided to throw it on in there).

She compliments him on his cooking and he politely responds and then she sits there for a moment dumbfounded. He wanted to talk, mentioned it mere minutes ago, and now nothing? The guy is just downright infuriating! Does he expect her to go first? She's not actually sure what they're meant to be talking about? Oh, no, wait, yeah, she remembers, Reece. Maybe? Cal's reaction to Reece, the bit about 'what are they telling other people?' A conversation they should have had weeks ago (but which they both, perhaps, have procrastinated on). Gillian chews her mouthful, thoughtfully, wondering where she should start this (and why does she have to go first?), watching Cal eat. His eyes flicker towards her but dart away without making proper contact and he concentrates on his meal. He seems to be sitting awkwardly and then Gillian clicks: he's nervous. He's also hilarious. She can't believe he's too nervous to talk to her. They've known each other so long. They talk all the time. Sometimes, they even talk about important things... But actually, when Gillian thinks about it, Cal doesn't actually try talking to her about _their_ 'stuff'. Prying into her private life? No problem. Her marriage? Slight subtly. Her dating after said marriage dissolved? No holds barred.

So what is his problem now?

Or do they just not have the kind of relationship she thought they had?

"To be continued," Gillian finally prompts him (she'll be damned if she spends the rest of her life catering to his insecurities).

(Rest of her life?)

Cal looks over at her, chewing. He swallows, "Yeah." Then he watches her a moment, studies her really and she waits. He starts off cautiously, "So, you didn't tell that guy you and I are...?"

Gillian notices three things, the first is that Cal puts his fork down. The second is his use of distancing language (which means he's totally bothered...) and that he can't finish the sentence. "That we're what?" She pushes.

"Hiding out from the government at the government's request?" He tries facetious and it does make her smile.

"Funnily enough, no, I don't mention that bit."

"What people?"

"Across the road? The barbeque?" Gillian tries to remind him and she can't tell whether he really doesn't remember, doesn't know in that instant what she's talking about, or is messing with her.

"I'm Cal, I live across the road."

"Nothing about...? I don't know. Why we moved here?" It's easier if they're not talking about Reece. Or them. (Maybe she's just as bad as Cal is).

"That's your fault."

"Is it?" Gillian stiffens in her seat.

"You came for a job."

Gillian relaxes again, moves past any accusations over what happened at the meth house (which is no one's fault, though, possibly Ria's, seeing as she sent them there). "Did you say anything about where we moved from?" Gillian tries to entice him to volunteer information.

"Didn't come up," Cal answers, putting more food in his mouth. "All right. What's the story?"

Gillian thinks for a second. "I guess I've said about as little as you have."

"Not having big heart to hearts with friends at work?"

Gillian ignores that. "Moved here for my job then?"

Cal gives a shrug. Yes, she supposes that's as good a story as any.

"Broke your limbs in a ski accident?" Gillian gives him a slight pout as she eats more of her meal (she's glad there's some still left in the dish, because she's having seconds). They're silent for a moment.

"Is that really all there is?" Cal asks, surprised.

Gillian's eyes flicker away as she thinks. "I guess I've been asking more questions than I've answered."

"That was me on the weekend."

Gillian gives him a smile. "I'm really glad you came."

When Cal grins at her, she knows exactly how he took that. "Me too," he adds for no one's benefit and Gillian has to look away.

"My resume says I worked in California."

"Whereabouts?"

"San Diego."

Cal nods his agreement.

"Should we be writing this down?"

"Is there going to be a test?"

Gillian gives him a disparaging shake of her head.

"Keep it simple and we'll remember," Cal suggests.

"And if someone probes for more details?"

"Tell them to not be so bloody nosey."

Gillian doesn't know if that's going to quite cut it, but she thinks it might do for now. How much does she really know about any of the people in her life? Not much. She knows Reece's last name and that's about it. The people across the road, well they weren't handing out life stories either. She only knew precursory information about her employees back in DC. Most of that kind of information tends to come up organically anyway, and she doubts anyone is going to start suddenly interrogating her about her background. She doesn't have to lie about all of it, can still tell them partial truths; those are the easiest lies to tell. Probably the hardest bit will be to not slip into telling the truth.

She finishes her meal and gets up. Cal looks up at her, startled. "I'm going to get more," she soothes. "You want some?" He shakes his head but his relief his obvious. He's so funny sometimes (and equally as annoying). Gillian serves herself another spoonful and when she's back Cal is finishing up (twisting the plate to meet the angle of his wrist as he scrapes up the sauce with his fork). She sits and Cal starts speaking immediately, even though he's still concentrating on the last of the food on his plate.

"You didn't tell Reece you're?" Cal tries again, and again, the words don't come out. He does actually look like he's struggling a little. "What are we?" He finally asks directly.

"Hiding?" Gillian tries because humour also serves her well when she wants to cover up an answer she doesn't know or doesn't want to give. This time, it's Cal that gives her the disparaging expression. He scrapes another forkful of pasta sauce, glancing up at her, expecting an answer. Damn, now the ball is in her court.

"I don't know Cal. What are we?"

"Married, for all intents and purposes."

Gillian supposes that's true. The house, the car, the bank accounts; the surname. There's no marriage license, but it certainly looks as though it's meant to look as though they're _together_ together in some way. "I guess we wouldn't really pass for brother and sister."

Cal breaks into an amused grin. "No."

"Whatever we tell other people, it also doesn't have to be the truth," Gillian points out.

"You're saying we tell them we're married but we're actually not?" Cal says, sounding bold. "Or something like that," he adds with a mumble, clearly thinking he's over stepped his bounds.

Gillian gives him a frown. "No. I mean. We're not, technically, married are we? There's no marriage certificate. It just looks as though we're in a relationship."

"Aren't we?" Cal winces a little.

"Well," Gillian hesitates. "Are we?"

Cal sighs.

"Do you want to be?" Gillian asks directly.

"Maybe," Cal mumbles as he puts his fork down, busies himself.

"Cal," Gillian starts, her tone careful but losing its patience.

"Yeah maybe," Cal says again. He meets her eye. "Aren't we sort of in one now? We are… sleeping together… Is that what you would want? To be… Relationship?" He goes on before she can answer him (she's chewing anyway, so she's not leaping in there to cut him off either. Which helps, because she's not quite sure how to respond. Liking someone, and sleeping with someone, and being in a relationship with someone are different things).

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Cal speaks again, before Gillian has the chance to.

"That's not fair," Gillian swallows. "This whole situation is complicated and complex. I'm not sure I would want to make it something... intense so quickly. We're just staring out," her tone is gentle. Cal seems to consider this. "But if people ask, then yes, I would tell them that... you and I are... together." That feels right. She thinks back to the girls in her class, asking her about her boyfriend. But she doesn't tell him that story (she doesn't think of him as her boyfriend; it's more than that already).

"Well, if you decide you want a divorce... better offer..." He tries to be glib, but doesn't quite make it. He seems scared and then hurt and Gillian starts to think that them being together is something that he actually really, really wants (and her being… cautious about it is unsettling him). Which is kind of scary for her because she's only just started to think about them in that way (ok, not _only_ just started to think about them that way. But it hasn't been real until now and there was no easy prelude into this. They fell into it headlong).

"Reece is gay so you don't even have to worry about him," Gillian says.

Cal raises his eyebrows in the shock he wants her to see. "Is he?"

"Probably," Gillian backs down a little. "If you're noticing he's good looking then he's not sending out those vibes to me, is he?" She gets up from the table to take her plate out to the kitchen (she's _so_ stuffed but it was _so_ good). Cal gives a slight smirk to that, amused, not impressed or relieved (or disgusted, for the record).

Gillian's spooning the last of the pasta dinner into a plastic container when Cal swings his way in. "This is my lunch tomorrow," she tells him, pushing it onto the bench to cool down further before she puts it away.

"You've already had seconds," Cal says, leaning against the bench.

"I'm working," Gillian tosses back, like that gives her an advantage.

"I cooked it," Cal pouts back.

"I paid for it," Gillian shoots, but that's not true. Yes, she earns a salary but Cal also gets a stipend and their money goes into the same account. It's an old cliché (about the breadwinner and the home-stayer).

"Ouch," Cal complains. "I'm invalided. Can't feed myself properly."

They laugh at the same time. Gillian moves on to the dishes. "Where's your plate?"

Cal looks abashed. Gillian huffs at him, but it's good natured, and goes to get it from the table. When she comes back Cal seems serious again. "One more question?" He asks.

"Sure," Gillian agrees, starting to rinse the dishes and stack the washer. She wonders what else there is to cover. Probably a lot, but they've already done more talking tonight than they have in weeks, so she considers that a victory; there's nothing else that could be pressing.

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't have an orgasm," Cal mumbles.

"Are we still talking about that?" Gillian looks over at him exasperatedly.

Cal looks abashed. "I just don't get it. Why would you keep... sleeping with me if it... wasn't any good?"

Gillian gives a softer sigh this time and shuts the water off. She goes to him, sliding her hands to fit into the slight curve of his waist and looking him in the eyes. She has his absolute full attention and that's good, because she means for him to hear her this time. "Because I like you Cal," (and oh how his face lights up, even though he tries to hide it. It makes her feel funny inside saying it too). "I wouldn't sleep with you if I didn't like you," she reassures. She's right to, he relaxes a little.

"Even though," he starts, shifting their weight (but not dislodging her), holding onto her hips now.

"Even though," Gillian confirms. "Because it's not just about getting... getting off," she tells him gently. "It still feels really good."

She's not sure, but she thinks Cal's ears go red.

He licks his lips quickly and the gesture draws her eye. She wonders what it would be like for him to use that tongue on...

"I just didn't imagine it happening that way."

Gillian looks up at his eyes again. "How did you imagine it?" She asks without thinking much. It occurs to her in the next second that he's spent time thinking about their first time together (which is kind of nice). She wonders how much time. The second before he kissed her the other week, or a bit more time than that?

"Better than that," Cal tells her, which gives her nothing. She wonders if he planned some big romantic evening that was meant to sweep her off her feet, but she can't imagine it; that's not really Cal's style.

"You used to think about it?"

Cal gives a slight smirk. "Yeah."

That makes her feel warm inside. She knew he... there was flirting, she wasn't blind to that. And she flirted back, because yes, she was trying to hint that she might be interested in something more with him. But he didn't make a move and so she wasn't sure he was serious but maybe he has. All this time. Maybe he has.

"Have you?" He asks.

It catches her off guard, but she tells him the truth, "Yes."

"Oh aye," Cal murmurs and pulls her closer to press his mouth against hers. He's warm and surprisingly gentle and it sends a flurry of butterflies to Gillian's stomach. Sometimes (most of the time) with all the stress and crap to deal with in her life, she forgets there's this side to Cal, and how it makes her feel. Even with that soft kiss she feels lightheaded when he pulls away, and she forgets for a second that she's showing him her cards.

"So you thought about us as an 'us' before now?" He goes on, like he's not even bothered by her standing so close and she can breathe in the smell of him, with his arms tangible at her sides. Her knees give a little so she sways into him for a second before regaining her balance.

"Maybe," Gillian tries belatedly for coy.

"You should have told me," Cal goes on gently.

"I did."

"Did _not_," Cal immediately scoffs.

"I _did_ to. You never made a move."

"I asked you out once and you turned me down flat. Thought you weren't interested."

"When was _that_?" Gillian asks incredulously.

"Ages ago."

"How was I meant to know one of the many dinner suggestions we've made to _each other_ over the years was a date?"

"Well," Cal mutters, looking away. "If you'd come out with me then you would have known."

Gillian narrows her eyes at him. "That's the stupidest argument I've ever heard." But she can see, that in his mind, he had actually asked her out on a date, and she had, unwittingly, by turning him down, crushed a little bit of his confidence (and maybe hope). "You're silly," she grips at his side in a light pinch and he squirms appropriately.

"How come you never asked me out then," Cal pushes back, eyes back on her, studying her face intently.

Gillian pauses. That's a good question. One she's asking herself now. She could have taken the plunge. "I wasn't sure you were interested." She says but doesn't add the 'anymore' part. There were times when he flirted with her when she was married and she thought it was cute; thought it was just a friendship thing, a type of bonding or whatever. But then the flirting kept on after she was divorced, and she still thought it was just Cal being Cal, until it wasn't light flirting anymore and it felt more serious (and oh, that dinner invite, the one that felt intense and pressured after he drowned and she talked with Helen) and she started to think that maybe, they could... And then that whole thing with Wallowski happened. It took time to recover from that. When it all died down again, she did let him know. Which she thought was taking a giant leap. Especially because he _didn't act on it_.

Cal scoffs but that's all the response he's got. She wonders if he's thinking about all the things that just went through her mind. Really, they're as bad as each other. She wonders if Cal would find that as funny as she does.

"Does it matter anymore?" Gillian asks gently. "It didn't happen how either of us thought it would. None of this was something I thought would happen, ever, anyway." Cal gives a shrug of his mouth in acquiescence (to the second part). "But it has happened. So maybe we could just... go with it."

"Go with it," Cal repeats.  
>"Go with the flow," Gillian adds.<p>

"All right," Cal agrees. Gillian gives him a smile, and he returns it, though cautiously, like he's not sure what's so amusing.

"All right," Gillian cements. She steps back to finish the dishes. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Yeah all right," Cal tucks his crutches under his arms. "But can you make it and bring it through for me?"

"Want me to drink it for you too?" Gillian quips under her breath.

"Oh could you!?" Cal says enthusiastically, before swinging himself out of the room.

"I'll get the dishes," Gillian adds.

"I heard that," Cal calls from the other room.

Gillian smiles at the plate in her hand. When she's done with the dishes she sits on the couch with him. Cal sits in the middle, but isn't lying all over all the cushions (though he does rest his casted leg on the coffee table; big expanse of black this time). So Gillian tucks up against his left side, feet under her, full body curled around his arm. He shifts his hand to her leg, curls fingers around her thigh and asks what she wants to watch (Heh. Is that his idea of chivalry? Letting her pick the channel?). She doesn't care so he goes for national geographic and they watch something about penguins. Even though it's the start of the week, the horrifically early morning has Gillian sleepy by seven. By seven-thirty she thinks she might have been asleep for a few moments at a time, so by seven thirty-five she's excusing herself to bed (at least tomorrow she gets a slight sleep in).

Cal turns the television off straight away.

"I didn't mean you had to come now too," Gillian says as she extricates herself from him (he's got a comfy shoulder for napping against).

"Well," Cal starts struggling to his feet. But he doesn't elaborate even though Gillian stands there for a second waiting for it. When he gets to his feet he looks a little red in the cheek but he does gesture for her to get out of the room. She goes to organise her clothes for the morning (and she's pretty sure Cal checks her out from behind as she ascends the stairs), because it gives Cal a chance to use the bathroom before her, and because she gets up so early she's pretty sure if she doesn't get organised the night before, that she'll accidentally go to work with no pants on (really not something she wants to risk when working in a high school).

She puts clean pyjamas on and heads downstairs again, going to the bathroom first to brush her teeth and use the toilet. When she gets into the bedroom Cal is in bed already, waiting for her. She pushes the door closed and goes to the bed, leaning in to put out the lamp out as she lifts the edge of the blanket. "Move over."

"No," Cal answers in the dark.

Gillian kneels on the mattress. "Yes. Move over."

"Go around," Cal grumbles at her.

She nudges in closer, pushing against his shoulder. "Just scoot over a bit."

"This is my side," Cal protests, but he does start to move. Gillian worms her way in further, encouraging him to give her another foot. Finally, there's enough room for her to lie on, even though he's still in the middle of the bed. "Can't get up now."

"Oh you can too," Gillian settles against the pillow, flicking the blanket down against her back so there isn't a draught. She's half lying on Cal and settles with her leg hooked over his, an arm across his chest. "Isn't this better?" There are no casts on this side.

Cal gives a 'hmph' that she will take as confirmation. She doesn't sleep this close on his broken side. Sometimes she does cuddle up, but it doesn't take long before its uncomfortable and he probably can't feel much seeing as she's pressed up against plaster. When his unencumbered left hand turns inside her thigh (making her squirm) she knows for sure he's really not that bothered. His fingers tickle against her flesh making her jump again and he laughs lightly. She shushes him, grabs at his hand to still him. He gives a big sigh and shifts around. "Keep still," she requests.

"I'm getting comfortable," Cal pouts at her (she can just picture his face). After a second more, he goes motionless.

Gillian closes her eyes, breathes in the scent of him, feels the warmth of his body, their contact points (she really is lying all over him). She thinks about her day tomorrow, what she has to do (meeting with Jerome).

"It's probably not even eight," Cal interrupts.

"Cal," Gillian warns.

"I'm just saying," he adds.

"You didn't have to come to bed now."

"What else was I going to do?"

"Watch TV," Gillian suggests. "Not talk to me so I can go to sleep."

"You're always gone so early," Cal grumbles but when Gillian doesn't respond to that he goes quiet again. She opens her eyes but she can't see him. She can tell his throat must be mere centimetres away from her mouth but she doesn't reach out to kiss him (she wants to, but she's pretty sure that would only encourage him).

"It's hot," Cal speaks again, raising his right arm to push the covers back. "Are you hot?"

"I'm fine," Gillian murmurs; toasty warm.

"It's pretty warm," Cal goes on.

Gillian pulls back from him, moving her leg, withdrawing her arm. "Sorry," she almost whispers. Cal shifts again, and she hears him wince, figures he put too my pressure on his leg (or arm). He half turns towards her and his right hand comes across to grip at her waist and pull her back against him in an awkward embrace. "Can't do this on the other side," Gillian tells him.

He huffs at her again, plants a kiss on her forehead (gets most of her eyebrow to be fair). "Maybe," he grumbles. He goes still and she settles, closes her eyes, feels sleep pulling at her consciousness. "I'm glad we talked tonight."

"Me too," Gillian says immediately. "But please let me go to sleep."

Cal gives a short laugh (good that he's not offended by her brush off but not good that he's not taking her seriously). "All right sorry."

Gillian pushes herself up to look at him (silly, really, considering its dark). "Why are you so manic?" She almost whines.

"Manic?"

"Talkative. I want to go to sleep," she does whine.

"There's just so much of you here," he answers and damnit, but she does melt a little. She leans down closer to his face, senses where his mouth is, gives him a kiss. His hand tightens on her waist, the fibreglass of his cast starting to press against her flesh.

"Please let me go to sleep," Gillian murmurs against his mouth. "Or I'll make sure I wake you up when my alarm goes off in the morning."

Cal presses his lips against hers in another brief but hard kiss. He moves so he's lying on his back again. "You think I even hear that anymore?"

"Let me go to sleep and I won't care if you talk to me," Gillian settles herself. Thinking he might just oblige this time. It's quiet for a long time and Gillian's mind starts pulling away.

"Could do other things to you."

"Cal," Gillian's tone is hard.

He chuckles but that's the last time he talks. Or, Gillian just doesn't notice. Because she falls asleep.

**PJ**

Cal jerks awake, thinking he's somewhere else but it doesn't take long to realise he's safe, right in the middle of the bed. And Gillian is gone, of course she is, so he struggles himself to the edge of the bed and gets up. He picks up his crutches and goes across the hall to the bathroom. Then he scuffs back the bedroom to dress before doubling back to the kitchen. It's lucky he's gotten used to his crutches, because that would have been something that would have driven him nuts, all the back and forth. He's marvelling at his progress (not just with the crutches) as he drinks coffee at the kitchen bench. He has cereal for breakfast, then takes himself to the living room and picks up the tablet from the coffee table. He swings his leg to fill the empty spot and taps it awake.

The first thing he does is check his email. There is just one and it's from Ria at the Lightman Group. Adrenaline spikes through Cal, making his skin prickle and his stomach tense. It's taken her a week to get back to him. He was starting to think his first message was too cryptic for her (he tries not to think other snide things about her ability to work it out) and that she might have just discarded it as junk. He opens the message, heart pounding (a little voice in the back of his head telling him all the reasons all over again why he shouldn't be doing this.)

He's not sure what to expect. Maybe gushing and fawning 'wow you're still alive!', 'we've been wondering where you are', that kind of thing, but the message is simple and direct and... vague enough to be careful (except that it's not. She's emailed from her work computer from her work email. If Jerome Willis has people watching the Lightman Group, and hacking emails, well... this could turn to shit quickly if they're not extremely cautious).

_Been busy_, she says. _Just got your message._ _Disciple for eons._

Cal smiles. "Good girl," he murmurs to himself. He goes back to the inbox to refresh the page but there are no more emails there for him. He taps a finger against the tablet's plastic outer case, thinking about what he's going to say next, and how he's going to say it (have to word it carefully just in case other people are reading...)

But after ten minutes he's drawing blanks. Nothing seems subtle enough. He feels edgy and restless. The new fibreglass casts are much, much lighter than the old plaster ones, and he got a sponge bath while he was at the hospital getting x-rayed and examined (was difficult to explain everything to the doctor...) so he's feeling like he's got a new lease on this. But the hyper-activeness is more difficult to deal with because he's still broken (the doctor straight out called him on standing and walking on his broken leg. It's slowed his progress right down to almost nothing).

The tablet's screen goes dark and Cal puts the device down on the couch cushion next to him. He's spent so much time sitting there the cushion must have an imprint of his ass about now. He wonders what else he could possibly do with his time. Speaking of time, he picks up the tablet again to check it. It's creeping closer to twelve. Gillian will be home in six hours (ish). So what's he going to do with all that time? Apart from think about what he wants to email back to Ria (he's definitely _not_ going to think about how he's going to confess to Gillian about the emails in the first place. She'll kill him.)

He gets up again and goes to the fridge, decides what he's going to make for dinner. He sees the plastic container Gillian spooned last night's dinner into still there on the shelf (missed it when he went for the milk); she forgot her lunch. If it were simple enough to jump in a car and take it to her, he would. But as it is, he'd have to call a cab (like he did yesterday for his hospital appointment) try and fold himself into it. The ride is uncomfortable and even if he did go to the school, he doesn't know when Gillian's lunchtime is (yes, he could ring and find out if he really wanted to go to the effort) and the truth is, he can't be bothered.

Cal goes back to the couch, energetic intentions spent. He picks up the tablet, brings up the email again. Stops and thinks and then wastes an hour playing games. And then after sitting on his ass again for that amount of time, he goes back to restless. It's a terrible cycle for him and one he hasn't broken. He's not really thought about how to, and, more importantly, he hasn't thought about it being a problem. Sure, it's frustrating when he feels restless and wants to be able to move around, but after he does get up, something as simple as going to the bathroom takes so much effort, that afterwards he's physically tired enough to go rest and once he's sitting again, he's happy. He naps in the afternoon for just over an hour and then thinks about going to start dinner so it will be ready somewhere near the time Gillian will be home.

Gillian didn't go shopping for food on the weekend, so there's not much to be had. Cal uses up the last of the potatoes, and odds and ends from the fridge (couple of handfuls of spinach, some olives and a chicken breast) and sets about making a warm salad. The thing is not as well stocked as any refrigerator he's ever opened; no assortment of condiments or containers of whatever that have been pushed right to the back and forgotten. It reminds him that they haven't been there long enough to have that kind of relaxed familiarity (he'd say messy, but their lives are plenty messy enough as it is). He pan fries the chicken with some dried sage, boils the last two eggs as well (hopes Gillian didn't want that for her breakfast tomorrow). He half thinks about texting her to tell her (or remind her) that there's not much food left but it feels awkward before he's even reached for his phone because they haven't really worked out a schedule and why should he just assume that she's the one to do it? He's not bed ridden (which guiltily reminds him that he's spent another day sitting around doing nothing while she works. Plus, he never sent that email) and he is capable of leaving the house (he proved that to her yesterday) even if it is a giant pain the ass.

Maybe he should just not mention it to her at all and just take the initiative and go do it. Surprise her. Pull his weight a little. He feels confident enough to say that she would actually be really pleasantly surprised (maybe relieved; sometimes he thinks she's starting to wear thin). Which isn't so much to say that she's easy to please (first hand attest to the fact that she is _not_) but more that she appreciates the little things that other people might not consider important, and let's him know about it. The warmth she gave him when she came home to find dinner ready (yes, he noticed) was a bit of a thrill actually (that's why he's cooking now. Well, not just for the reward, he does think it makes sense for him to cook seeing as he's _there_). He might not be able to do many things for her (not just in the bedroom; mind out of the gutter thanks) like he thinks he ought to (stuff like being the breadwinner; oh god he doesn't really believe that does he?!) but that doesn't mean he's completely useless. Not bedridden right?

So while he's slicing up half a tomato and red pepper for the mid-week-end-of-the-week-salad, he starts thinking about the things he can actually do. Like... cook. Like possibly making a little extra for her lunch tomorrow. Like... laundry! (That should have been an easy one to come up with). He thinks he might pass on cleaning (can't imagine dragging around a vacuum cleaner) but he can empty the dishwasher (which he does while he's still waiting on the potatoes, chicken and eggs to cook). It's a process of taking one plate at a time to the cupboard but he gets the hang of swinging his body and fibreglass cast around without stepping on the break or breaking anything else; a little time consuming, but achievable. As he's slicing the chicken up (freaking carefully, because he's the knife in his broken hand which isn't the greatest grip) he hears keys in the door and Gillian's home.

It honestly sends a thrill through him and he's tempted to walk (not rush, no, not rush) to the door to greet her. He has to wait for her to come to him and she takes her time which makes him feel impatient. But then she's there and the tip of her nose is red (so cute) and her hair looks messy (so sexy) and she comes towards him with a smile. She leans in to kiss him straight away, and Cal is glad. Two reasons: the first is that he doesn't have to go to her to get a kiss, and the second is that she _wants_ to kiss him; the first (maybe second actually) thing she goes when she gets in the door. And that feels pretty good.

"Dinner's ready," Cal tells her (he timed that perfectly). He's already laid out the salads in large bowls so he only has to scoop up the chicken and place it on top.

"This looks great," Gillian notes as she reaches for the servings and Cal hops out of the way so she can get to them. As he grabs forks from the drawer, he thinks he could have set the table all nicely (and tries to hold back the laughter at how soppy it seems); Gillian would like that kind of thing. He thinks. He's pretty sure she would. She's waiting for him in the dining room and he hands over a utensil so she can make a start while he takes his seat. But she waits for him and as he finally jerks the chair forward so he's close enough (without jamming his casted knee against the wood of the table) she starts.

"This is really good," she compliments almost instantly.

"Forgot dressing," Cal suddenly realises it and starts to turn to get up.

"I'll get it," Gillian says immediately, already easily lighting from her seat to go to the fridge. Cal wonders if she notices how empty it is now that he's practically thrown everything in there into their meals for tonight; and then he thinks about wine. Gillian drinks wine. Wine would be nice (he could actually go all out and cook something amazing and wasn't he complaining the other week that he didn't get the chance to romance her? He's not trying hard enough.)

Gillian sets down some low fat thing and the mayonnaise in front of Cal. He reaches for the mayonnaise and she sits. "Hey," she says. He looks over at her. "Are you ok?"

"Yes," he answers, shoving down the frustration at his consternation.

"How was your day?" She asks, watching him while she reaches for her own dressing.

"Fine," Cal answers, not liking the scrutiny, fearing that she'll see something he doesn't want to give away (oh how the tables have turned!) "How was your day?" He tries to change the subject.

Gillian bites. "Not too bad. It's freezing outside." And she's off. She gives a brief rundown of her day but no details. Then she asks Cal what he got up to and he (a little bashfully) admits that he basically did nothing (tomorrow when she asks, he's going to be able to actually give a proper answer, because he actually plans to do something). They finish eating and Gillian clears the table. Cal takes nothing back to the kitchen (too hard to carry anything even in one hand while using two crutches) but stands there while Gillian cleans up after him. And then while he's standing there watching Gillian scrub at the pan that cooked the chicken, Cal reaches for a cloth to wipe down the bench. He runs it under the tap, leaning in close against Gillian (might be a little too close, a little on purpose; she smells nice).

"Cal!" She exclaims. "Your cast!"

"Is waterproof," Cal finishes leaving his hand under the running water. She looks at him, still slightly aghast. "I got them to put on the waterproof liner too, so I can shower in these," he adds.

"Oh," Gillian's face goes back to calm. Cal squeezes the excess water out of the sponge and starts on the bench (feeling good about helping a little). "Guess you don't need me to wash your hair anymore either."

Oh damn. He didn't think of that.

And he thinks Gillian sounds disappointed about that too. When he turns to look at her face she's simply concentrating on the pan. If she were being flippant, she probably would have teased him about doing his own dishes from now on. Gillian bends to put the pan in the dishwasher and Cal hops around it to get to the stove top. He puts out a hand to lean on Gillian as he hops by and when she doesn't shrug him off (oh good, she's not actually mad at him) he leans heavily against her, bumping her back into the bench, and plants a kiss on the edge of her jaw, by her ear (first time he's been able to do that! Instigate.) She sighs into him, wraps her arms around his neck, turns her head to place her mouth against the corner of his. He closes the distance, kisses her properly; a warm pressing of their mouths. He takes note of how she feels against him (soft and warm) and how she holds her body (pressed against him along the length), how she smells (kind of sweet, like faded perfume), the way she breathes against him (holds her breath a while, then lets it out slowly); the little noise she makes (almost a hum, but not quite; it sounds content). They stand that way for a long while, until Cal realises he's been holding his breath while taking note of everything, and has to pull away for air. He can see now the darkness of her eyes, the slight smile on her mouth, the hint of colour in her cheeks; she's beautiful.

Nothing is said, but then it doesn't need to be. Since 'the talk' things have already been easier between them, more how Cal thinks it should be (not fraught with tensions and things unsaid and guessing), but perhaps not yet perfect (what is perfect anyway? He could spend his life waiting for perfect and be forever disappointed). They finish up with the kitchen in peaceful quiet and Cal notes each and every time Gillian finds a way to touch him (brushes an arm against his ass, a hand on his shoulder, thigh against his; she always seems more affectionate after he starts it, so he's going to remember that for every other time from now on); a process of gaining knowledge.

This evening felt a bit like a date.

Cal follows Gillian to the living room. She's put the TV on but she has the tablet in her lap and Cal's heart jumps to his throat. But she's not suspicious or making exaggerated accusations (yet) so she can't have found anything he doesn't want her to see (yet?). He takes his seat next to her, on her right side, and her hand immediately falls to his thigh, curves over the top of it to rest dangerously close to his groin. Cal feels his body temperature ratchet up as he focuses on the hand (she did that to him another time and it was entirely too difficult to concentrate then as well).

After half an hour or so Gillian gives up the tablet and watches television with him (he's not been following what's on the screen at all) and within a few hours, typically, she's sleepy. She calls bed time and gets up and Cal follows. He hears her going up stairs and knows now that it's not to avoid him; she gets dressed in the morning up there, so he figures that's where her pyjamas are. He gets up after her, tucking the tablet into the waistband of his pants, before swinging his way to the bedroom. He puts the device under a pillow quickly, and then heads back to use the bathroom first (he knows Gillian lets him have it before her). As he's exiting Gillian comes down the stairs, so he tugs off his clothes and gets into bed. He gets into her former side of the bed (where it smells like her!) which is awkward, what with it being the opposite angle to how he's been practicing getting into bed for the last month. By the time Gillian comes in, he's already settled and he gets a perfect view of the split-second of surprise on her face when she sees him; he can take a hint, he smirks to himself.

Gillian slips under the covers, puts out the light, and scoots right across the mattress to press all her softness all over him. She gives him searching kisses until she finds his mouth and then gives him a warm wet kiss goodnight. Cal tightens his left hand against whatever part of her is basically pressed into his palm anyway and Gillian stays where she is for a long time, until Cal admits he's getting too hot (the skin under the cast on his leg tingles). Gillian gives him another kiss, another murmured 'goodnight' and moves away to her side of the bed. Whatever was in his hand slips away (thinks he might have been holding onto thigh) but his replaced with her hand. Cal smiles in the darkness. He wants to follow her over there, curl up beside her so he's closer but not being smothered (he wasn't complaining about the smothering. He liked it). But he can't. So he stays put and when he thinks Gillian has gone to sleep he waits longer for the hypnic jerks that tell him she's definitely under. He listens to hear breathing even out and thinks he's safe. He carefully withdraws his hand and reaches for the tablet under the pillow and taps it to life. He angles the screen so it's not in Gillian's face and brings up that email. And then he thinks about what he's going to say to Ria.


	13. Chapter 13

Gillian has a crazy busy morning so when there's a knock on her open office door a few minutes after the bell has rung for the start of the third period, she's forgotten about her appointment with Jerome. He doesn't off her a smile (she barely gets eye contact) and there are no words of greeting. She welcomes him pleasantly anyway and suggests he come in, close the door and take a seat. He does (doesn't slam the door or anything obnoxious) and takes a seat on the couch, the one the furthest away from her desk, where she was working when he knocked. He drops his bag at his feet and slouches into the cushion (reminding her of Cal a bit), then rests his chin on his hand on the arm of the couch, slumps further over and proceeds to stare at the wall opposite, completely ignoring her.

Tough crowd.

Gillian gets up and heads over to the chair opposite the couch. She takes a seat and once she's settled she asks Jerome how he is. He gives a nod but doesn't look at her. The annoying thing is, he's not aggressive with her, not angry or obnoxious (which is something she could deal with straight away); he acts like he's merely completely bored with her. Like she is simply not worth his time. And that's the worst kind of punishment (and she can't work out why she's being punished, or feels like she's being punished, when really, all she's done is actually try to help him). There are few things more hurtful than being ignored.

"So I hear you've been turning up to your classes," Gillian starts. "That's great."

No response.

She opens his file and pretends to look through. She's killing time because this is the third meeting she's had with him and the silence is getting to her (teenagers... hmph). She's done her research into ways to connect with him, get him talking; she's looked into his background, home life, family etc. Either way she comes up trumps. The first two sessions, she talked almost nonstop, asking him questions and getting nothing but silence. Today, she's not in the mood. She's almost out of patience (which isn't great, really, considering she's met with him just three times and this is her _job_). She's made progress with her other charges, but not Jerome. He's stubborn (though she doubts he'd give Cal a run for his money).

Anyway, today, she's just going to sit and see who lasts in silence the longest. She's brought other work with her to the chair, so she flicks to it, starts working on it. She senses Jerome's eyes on her; a long steady inspection, before he's back to the wall. She can do silence like a pro (he should ask Cal about it, heh) and after half an hour, while she's ensconced in her paper work, she suddenly senses Jerome's uncomfortableness. He starts shifting around a bit. He reaches into his pocket for his phone but she raises her head straight away and coolly tells him to leave it where it is. He obliges, refuses to look at her, goes back to staring at the wall. So she goes back to her paper work and another ten minutes of that and Jerome is uncomfortable again. Gillian starts to think she's winning.

The ole silent treatment. Works every time.

Then the bell rings and Gillian closes up her folders as Jerome bends for his school bag and gets to his feet. Gillian leaves her work on the seat and walks to the door with him, reminding him that she'll see him tomorrow (after the first non-talkative session, she made them an everyday thing. Sucker. He is _not_ going to win). She tells him to have a good afternoon as he reaches for the door handle, hurrying to get out of there and he half glances over his shoulder at her as he starts to walk away. But he hesitates, because standing there by the secretary's desk is Cal (he makes quite the sight leaning on his crutches, the giant black fibre-glass cast standing out only slightly less than the big white plaster one did). Gillian is as equally surprised.

"All right?" Cal greets, looking at her, then at Jerome, who is now hovering in an obvious way.

"Hi," Gillian says, wondering what he's doing there (two days in a row no less).

Cal shifts his body angle, hops towards her, holds out a plastic bag with something square in the bottom. "Forgot your lunch."

Gillian steps forward to take it (almost has to step around Jerome). "Thanks," she says, not sure what he means by forgot her lunch. She has her lunch in her office. "See you tomorrow Jerome," Gillian hints and he gives a 'yep' and strides off. Gillian looks back to Cal and he's waiting. "Want to?" She turns and gestures to her office with her head. Cal says 'yep' too and swings past her. She follows him, opening the carrier to see what he brought her. It's a plastic container. She pushes the door mostly closed and takes the container out. It's the pasta from the other night. Cal drops himself to the couch with an audible 'oooph'.

"I left this for your lunch," Gillian tells him, crossing the office to give it to him.

Cal refuses to take it. "You called dibs."

"And you said you wanted it, so I left it for you."

"But you called it," Cal tells her, looking up from his seat, his eyes almost innocent. Gillian suddenly wonders if he really is being chivalrous, or if there's something else.

"I brought lunch with me," Gillian tells him, holding the container out again. "You have this." She shakes it at him and something inside rattles against the plastic. Cal still looks up at her, not reaching out, so she shakes it again. "We'll share," she decides, just to get him to comply (she doesn't want to eat it in front of him. She did actually genuinely leave it for him). He does. And she goes to her desk to get the lunch she made out of her bag. She joins him on the couch, tucking her legs under her, so she's sitting nice and close. Cal pries open the lid of the plastic and Gillian unwraps her sandwiches. She hands him one, and he hands her the pasta.

"Did you come all the way down here just to give me this?" Gillian asks, stabbing forkfuls of cold pasta, chicken and set sauce onto the fork. She could take it down to the staff room and heat it up but that would mean leaving. Or relocating this little picnic to a public setting.

"Well," Cal starts. He takes a bite of the sandwich she offered and chews for a while (which Gillian thinks is a nice deterrent from talking to give him time to think). "Yes."

She gives him a slight smile. She thinks it's sweet.

"And to have lunch with you," Cal adds before taking another large bite of the sandwich (just about gets half the thing in there).

Gillian's smile gets wider. "That's sweet."

Cal shrugs at her. On purpose. But she likes the look in his eyes. She eats more pasta. It's not quite as good cold, but it's still pretty yummy (and mostly, it's that he brought it all the way down here for her. Because, for him, that would have taken some effort. She doesn't entirely mean physically).

"Plus I got some weed."

Gillian swallows awkwardly. "Pardon?" But Cal is already laughing at her so she knows it's a joke (although she figures it doesn't matter if he did... It's not illegal in Colorado. She's not going to smoke any, but why should she care if he does?)

"I wouldn't bring that here," Cal finishes and takes another bite of his sandwich, finishing it off.

Gillian nudges his shoulder and he chuckles again. "If you go, get some for me too," she tells him and for a second he's not sure whether she's joking or not.

"Doctor Foster," he starts. "You...?"

But she shushes him quickly and looks to the door. It takes him longer to work out why she quietened him than it did to realise she wasn't serious about the weed. And then he remembers: she's not Foster anymore.

Heaviness falls over them, the jovialness gone. Gillian avoids his eye and he's not sure if that's because she's worried about how someone could have overheard them (yeah maybe talking about marijuana isn't appropriate in a high school counsellor's office either) or because of her tone (but he'll go with the first one, because she's not worried about overstepping boundaries with him. Or at least, she hasn't in the past. Quite happy to tell him when he's wrong).

Cal's about to break the silence when Gillian nudges his shoulder again. He turns his head to look at her, opening his mouth to make it right between them again (not apologise, just make it ok again) and she shoves a forkful of the pasta in. He's surprised, wasn't ready for it, but accepts it happily, because she's hand feeding him. Which is hokey but kind of cute (and that fork was in her mouth a moment ago and now it's his mouth and that's probably the closest he's ever going to get to swapping spit with her on this couch in her office in her place of work, which is with teenagers).

"So what are you up to today?" Gillian asks, taking a piece of chicken for herself.

Cal shrugs. The weed joke comes to mind again but he shoves that aside. "Did some groceries this morning."

"You did food shopping?" Gillian asks astounded. She looks at his casts and then back to his face, the fork poised to give him more pasta. Cal gestures to it with his chin and she raises is to his mouth.

"Yeah," Cal tells her before starting to chew. "They do deliver these days."

"Oh right," she murmurs and looks embarrassed. Cal doesn't start to speculate why, because he's totally hung up on how beautiful she looks. She just is. She picks another piece of chicken out of the container.

"You're stealing all the good bits," Cal whines. Gillian gives him a smirk but she finds him a piece of meat just to shut him up. "What time will you be home for dinner?"

"Later," Gillian tells him.

Cal nods. That will give him extra time to cook. He got out of the habit once Emily left, because then it was just him and he couldn't be bothered. Plus, he started pulling longer hours and often didn't have time (and that might have been because Emily had gone, and it was just him). He's rediscovering how much he likes to cook (and how much he likes to cook for someone. And Gillian is a very receptive audience).

Gillian feeds him more pasta and then starts on her sandwich. They eat in silence for a while. "Who was that kid?"

"Hm?" Gillian turns her head to him.

"The kid out there before. Seemed lost."

"Jerome," Gillian tells him. Cal stares at her (clearly that name doesn't bother him). "He's... I don't know," she sighs.

"He's getting the better of you?" Cal asks quietly.

"I'm not sure yet," Gillian shakes back the hair from her face. "Too soon to tell."

"Good luck then," Cal offers.

"No sage advice?" Gillian asks, giving him the last of their lunch.

Cal chew for a moment. "That's your department, love. I've never been good with feelings."

Gillian gives him a tight-lipped smile and pats his thigh (perfectly finds the gap before the fibre-glass starts and his hip). She doesn't say anything though (or doesn't get to) because the bell rings.

"Guess that's my cue," Cal tells her. Gillian says 'uh huh' and moves back to get up. She puts the plastic container into the plastic bag but stashes it under her desk so he doesn't have to carry it home. When Cal's standing (and a little puffed with it; he forgot how hard it was to get up from that couch) Gillian approaches again to walk him to the door. "So I'll see you at home," he starts congenially.

"Hey," Gillian reaches out a hand and grips the front of the jersey he's wearing. She grabs a fistful, but instead of pulling him towards her (which would have unsettled his balance) she moves in closer to him. She presses her mouth against his for a long moment and then breaks away, her eyes slightly darker. Cal's heart beats wildly in response; caught off guard. "Thanks for lunch," she murmurs, all intimate and sexy, making Cal not want to leave in the slightest. He gruffs out a response (more of a clearing of his throat really) and Gillian reaches for the door for him, while he stares hard at the back of her head and down the side of her body. He swings his way out of the small room, trying to concentrate and clear his head; she disarms him too easily sometimes. Gillian walks with him to the front entrance. She leaves him there though, has to meet someone, she says, so Cal swings himself outside and pulls his phone from his pocket. He did this last time too, forgot to call for a cab when he was still inside. But that's fine. It's not raining or snowing and doesn't even seem that cold. He swings his way to the street and perches on the low sign that announces the school to wait.

Every time Cal's ordered a cab in the last week or so, the driver pulls up and Cal gets an odd look. Yeah, he figures it's a lot of cast for one man. This time, the driver is a woman and she's much more helpful. She puts the passenger seat right back for him and hovers to take his crutches when he's in and puts them in the back. Instead of heading home though, Cal asks to be taken to the post office. He needs to open a post office box. The rest of his conversation with Ria went like this: _Still looking into the house?_

Then she said: _Yes. Unofficially. Where should I send the stuff?_ (Which sounded like a drug deal... Which is what started this whole stupid mess.)

Cal said: _I'll work on it._

Because he couldn't have her email through all the case files and investigation and anything else, like photos and video footage. Could he? He couldn't. That would just be... far too obvious for anyone trying to trace them, and then difficult to look at on a tablet, and how was he going to hide that from Gillian? So post office box is his next best idea. He can open it under his false name, using his new credit card (although, explaining the charge on the account to Gillian is going to be difficult. But he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. There's a good chance she may not even notice. Even though it's a joint account. Ok, he's going to have to really think about a good excuse for that one. But later) and then check on it relatively anonymously (although, when he does get to the post office he looks around for cameras and thinks he might wear a cap next time he comes in).

The cabbie makes a little small talk as they drive and asks him if he would like her to wait while he does his business. Cal tells her she really doesn't have to, he'll just call another one. But she insists (and he watches her turn off the meter) so that's nice. And afterwards she's still there waiting on him, like she said she would, so Cal goes home. He's done laundry (stripped their bed and put the sheets through, which took some serious effort and maybe falling down once or twice. Maybe), ordered food online (and clothes as well. Not that he really needs them... but something other than cut off jeans and a million grey t-shirts could be nice), brought Gillian her lunch and set up the post box. When he gets to the house the cabbie helps him out of the car (which is where he starts getting irritated; he doesn't like to be patronised) and tries to undercharge him (he's not a blood charity case. He's got a broken leg is all...) so he over-tips and starts to swing away before she can hopefully do anything about it (not that he's under any illusion that he could outrun her, no, he just doesn't think she'd follow him to the door or inside to give him the money back). She doesn't.

Despite that flare of annoyance though, Cal feels pretty good. He's more mobile than he was a week ago (practice and the fact that his casts are half the weight they were before) and he's doing something active (laundry, cooking, shopping... investigating). He takes a rest in the first available seat (dining room, because he thinks if he gets to the couch he won't get up again) until he feels energetic enough to deal with the wet sheets. He puts them in the dryer, looking out the window to see what the weather is doing (he's not needed to pay attention before now). The Flatirons loom over the house, dominating the skyline; foreboding. The sky is grey and Cal thinks better of trying to carry the wash basket out to the line in his condition. He twists the dial on the drying machine and hops his way out of the narrow space to where he left his crutches against the hall wall.

He emails Ria back with the post box details, then takes the paper work for it and stashes it at the back of one of his drawers, under the clothing. He doesn't think Gillian will look there, but it makes him realise he doesn't have anything in the house that is his alone; his own space. This is not at all like how it would be if they had been dating and then moved in together, and it reminds him all over again about how odd the situation is, how messed up and backwards everything has become and of course, that makes him think about how things are with Gillian. He's tried to adopt a 'get on with it' attitude (without being a moody bastard either) but feels like that kind of behaviour might also be glossing over some real or imagined issues. She said she's fine with the sex thing, but fine isn't mind-alteringly great (she seems ok with keeping her hands off him). And they haven't talked properly about whether they're dating or just having sex or whether this is a marriage (which honestly, when he thinks about the marriage part so blatantly like that, gives him a fright; he's not sure he or they are ready for marriage. And yet here they are).

Cal sits again, this time on the couch, and with the tablet. He's got a few hours before he should start dinner and he's feeling melancholy. He opens up his email to see if Ria has got back to him but she hasn't. Instead, there's an email from his daughter. It was even harder trying to get a message to her that was vague enough to see innocent, but not so off the farm that she deletes it as spam and he never hears from her again. He feared her first response, the inevitable 'Dad is this you?' but she didn't ask that and it makes him proud (maybe scared) of how smart she is. He feels lonely, with no one to talk to, which is silly, because he's not always been the kind of guy to have to have someone to have a heart to heart with, but there have always been people around otherwise to maybe take a few snippets of that here and there. There was Emily to talk to about her mother, to push him into talking about his mother or the women he dated (and sometimes she asked probing questions about Gillian that he didn't know how to answer).

And there was Gillian on the other side, talking to him about business, science, politics, finance, his life (even though he pretended he didn't want to), her life (how he liked to pry); she kept him grounded. But now... well things are kind of odd between them. Not odd like weird odd, like it was last week, but more odd like, it's just not how it used to be. Maybe that's to do with the sex bit. But he can't be sure. He does wonder what it might have been like if they had been at home, in DC, in their normal environment and if he had worked up the courage to ask her on a proper date or something (maybe she would have asked him out. Maybe they already had, and just didn't know it). He guesses, ironically, that he'll just have to 'get on with it' and hope that it gets easier, more natural (maybe he'll stop doubting himself). He'll try.

So he emails his daughter back and feels a prickle on his neck, like someone is watching him. No one is watching him and he doesn't spend too much time worrying about it. He distracts himself with making beef chilli con carn on rice for dinner (he feels much more confident with cooking knowing it doesn't matter if he makes a mess of his cast; he can wash it) and it simmers away in its pot, waiting on Gillian to get home. Cal takes the last of the laundry out of the dryer and detangles the sheets, leaning against the wall for balance. He shoves his clothes (mostly underwear) back in the correct drawer, and then hesitates over what's left. It's Gillian's. Underwear. He doesn't know how she likes her clothes folded (if he should fold that top or if it needs to be ironed first, or if he folds it the wrong way, it might get all messed up) so he has to leave them. He takes the sheets to the bedroom though, trailing them on the ground as he uses one crutch and tries to stay off his leg (he's gotten much better at that too).

Gillian calls out when she comes through the door, so Cal grabs his other crutch from the hallway and swings his way down. She gives him a warm smile when she sees him and leans in for an interestingly hot kiss (Gillian actually has to grab him to stop him from falling over, which makes her laugh). Cal asks about her day as she takes off her coat and she's all warm smiles as she responds. He tells her dinner is ready and she looks delighted. Of course, she has to serve it up (which takes a little out of the romance of cooking for her) but she compliments him on the food quite genuinely and they settle into an easiness Cal was looking for earlier. They talk about the rest of his afternoon (and he proudly recounts all his domesticity), which leads to other conversation about the house, finances. Cal isn't actually sure of exactly what happens with Gillian's pay, like when she gets paid and has to admit he's charged things up to the credit card (because he also doesn't know when he gets the stipend from the government either. Or how much it is. He just remembers it's enough to live on).

So after they eat (and Gillian refuses seconds this time. There'll be enough for lunches tomorrow anyway) Gillian takes him through the budget. It's kind of like conversations they've had for the Lightman Group and Cal does much better with simply knowing how much money he's allowed to spend a month before he'd force them into a deficit. It's kind of odd being a kept man. The last time he was unemployed was when he'd left the Department of Defence and Zoe had been the one earning (she'd give him a cash allowance every week which was exactly as patronising as it sounds). This time around it's a little different though (and Gillian is much kinder); Cal actually finds himself listening (and caring) and willing to play along. Besides, how much money does he really want to spend? He's not an overly big fan of possessions (he does miss his Rolex though, and they already have laptops, tablets and phones) but Gillian does tell him he can pretty much do whatever he wants with his half (yes, half!) of the disposable income, even though it's not a lot (even though his stipend is not half).

"You're really willing to let me have half of it?" Cal asks her, curious more than challenging.

"Yeah sure," Gillian tells him. "I'll spend my half on shoes and you can spend your half on whatever."

Cal gives a lazy grin, "I did like your shoes."

Gillian sighs, "me too." And then her eyes flash. "So you were looking?"

"Oh yeah," Cal tells her. "I was looking."

Gillian gives him a kind of smirk and leans in.

"How could I not?" Cal adds and she gives a short laugh before she presses a kiss against his mouth. Cal makes it deeper, feeling warm. She shifts closer, a thigh against his (she sits on his left side) and her hands are almost in his lap as she grasps for balance. Cal pries one of her hands loose to link their fingers and ends up tugging her closer. Gillian pulls away from his mouth but climbs into his lap instead, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leans in to kiss him again. This is the most 'energetic' she's been after a work day and he is so not complaining. Kissing leads to undressing but before it gets too far Gillian is pulling away from him, getting to her feet. She holds out her hand as Cal looks up at her from the couch, his breath heavy. "Come on," she coaxes and Cal bypasses that double entendre to make a request of his own.

"Here."

"Here?" Gillian asks him, her cheeks red and her hair tousled. Her shirt is hanging open so he can see her bra and breasts and her bellybutton.

"Yeah here?" Cal asks.

"Mm ok," Gillian agrees. She goes to move off again.

Cal reaches out his hand to her and she stops. "Where are you going?" He asks, feeling a little unsure (has he mentioned he's at her mercy? Because he is. If she decides she doesn't want to and goes to bed, then he doesn't have much choice but to follow her). He has to trust that she'll come back (and not think about how she might not. Because she's given much indication that she _does_ want to, at least, have sex with him).

"Still have to get... protection," Gillian tells him, a very slight hesitation before she mentions condoms. She also gets red in the face and Cal wonders what that's about; there has been no embarrassment about condoms before.

Cal lets her go and waits (quasi) patiently. It's odd to sit there and just wait but at least Gillian doesn't make him twiddle his... thumbs for long. When she's back they fall into what's becoming a predictable routine of removing their own clothes, kissing, touching, putting the condom on and Gillian controlling when she slides into his lap. Cal doesn't like that bit still (the bit where she controls it) but he does like the couch very much. With sitting much further upright, he's that much closer to Gillian. He can reach every inch of her, kiss where he wants and touch even more. In that way, he gains some of the power and he uses it to his advantage. There are times when he can be more forceful with Gillian, turn her neck a certain way, frustrate her despite requests; he has fun with it. And Gillian has fun too (it's quite easy to tell).

She's heavy against him afterwards, her face pressed in close against his neck and hair and Cal wraps his good arm tightly against her back, his casted arm more loosely; he gets to hold her! He feels the way she absently clings, then comes to her senses and grips him tighter. She turns her head and presses a kiss against his neck, below his ear. She squirms and he thinks she's trying to get away, but she merely shifts her weight, actually sinks further against him, belly pressed to belly. Her hands dig between his back and the couch cushions and she hugs him back. They don't sit that way for long (it gets cold quickly) but it's nice, content; it's what Cal's been looking for and it does something to sooth his heart. He strokes down her spine, feeling the ridges of her spine, the shiver of body against his.

Gillian pushes against his shoulders and looks down at him with a slight smile. She gives him a brief kiss and murmurs against his lips that she's going to go shower. It takes some fumbling for her to disengage from him, but then she's walking from the room, kicking off the last tangle of her clothes, leaving Cal sitting almost naked on the couch (still not an easy thing to take his pants off, so they haven't bothered once again). Cal sits for a moment, hears Gillian on the stairs and gets himself to his feet. He goes through the awkward process of tugging off his jeans and underwear and then the tedious process of going up to the second level after Gillian.

It's probably incredibly amusing to watch, Cal hopping his way upstairs with one crutch, a long black cast, gripping onto the banister heavily with everything hanging free, but by the time he reaches the top, and he's a little breathless with the effort (because he doesn't stand on his broken leg once), he's feeling lightheaded and grumpy (why can't she just shower downstairs?). He stands at the landing, catching his breath, listening to the crash of spattering water in the next room, imagining Gillian naked, looking forward to the time he can sneak up on her and not be crippled; it will be easy.

Cal hops to the door and twists the handle, he's uncoordinated with trying not to stand on his broken leg and one crutch, and bangs his leg cast against the wood, giving his position away. Gillian is predictably looking for him when he finally comes into the room and she's immediately asking him what's doing.

"Thought that would be obvious," Cal answers, hopping further into the room, using the wall to help keep his balance (it's another awkward dance to get into the room, turn and close the door behind him, and then make his way to the shower curtain). Gillian stands out of the stream of the water, at the edge of the shower curtain, waiting on him. Cal's grateful she doesn't attempt to help him (doesn't suggest that she does either) but he does get the impression she's fretting a little. He comes closer.

"No, what are you doing?" Gillian asks him sharply.

"Move," Cal requests gently. He almost reaches for the shower curtain to hang on to, but that would come down in a second.

"You can't get in."

"Why not?" Cal stands before her (she's slightly taller than him, because of the shower tray, and he remembers that he likes that about her; just a slight difference). "Waterproof, remember?"

"You'll fall," Gillian objects.

"I'll hang on," Cal promises. He looks down at the slight step up and thinks for a second how he's going to manage it. He might just have to take his walking implement in there with him. Could be a bit crowded.

"You'll slip and fall and I'm not taking you to hospital with your other leg broken."

Cal looks up at Gillian's face. Her tone isn't quite confrontational yet, but she's edgy, he can see it in the lines on her face, the set of her eyes. He, however, is frustrated. "Just let me in," he just about growls and Gillian does. She steps back and lets him in and even lets him grip at her shoulder to make sure he's got his balance. But then she stays quiet and he knows he's pissed her off, or crossed the line where she's actually ok with this situation (and yet she doesn't say any more about it. He's not sure if that's a blessing or a curse). She lets him stand before her under the water and after a while sneaks her hands around his waist and presses up against his back to try and get some water herself. She's warm against his skin and he can feel her breasts (and his heart rate goes back up, just when it was calming after the climb on the stairs). He wants to turn within her embrace but he would have to dislodge her completely to be able to do that. And there's a good chance he might fall down (and take her with him. He's pretty sure she's not going to be happy with him at all if he breaks her leg for her as well).

Cal leans forward and dips his head under the water. Gillian combs her fingers against the back of his head and when he emerges and wipes the water from his eyes, she presses a kiss against the back of his neck. Cal does move then, slowly and carefully, Gillian giving him a wide berth while he turns. He leans against the wall (which is uncomfortably cold for a second) looking at Gillian (looking at everything) and wanting to sit. "Won't stay long," he tells her and he's wary (and some of that might be that he's tired of always fighting her; or realising that he always makes a dumb decision long after he's made it).

"You better hurry up then," Gillian reaches for the soap and crams it into his hand. Cal smirks and she raises a hand to seemingly wipe it from his mouth (but there are no smiles for him). Cal runs the soap quickly over his body while Gillian rinses her hair (it's only then that Cal notices there's shampoo in it) and the smell is incredibly nice. Gillian puts conditioner through her short strands and Cal eyes her up. She takes the soap from him, puts it back in the dish, then presses her mouth against his in a long hot press (just a press though). Cal loves how languidly affectionate she is with him right after they've had sex (and rues the slight tension in the water between them). He squeezes at her waist and can feel her smile (it's only small).

She breaks away from him and starts rinsing her hair out. Cal stays where he is, leaning against the wall, watching her, letting her have all the water, trying not to put his broken foot on the ground (and the effort, combined with climbing the stairs, sex, and their pseudo-fight has done him in). When she's finished, there are droplets on her lashes and her eyes meet his and if she doesn't look incredible...

"You still with me?" She asks him softly.

"Yeah," Cal sighs.

"Let's get you out of here," she offers, twisting off the water. She steps out and Cal watches her go (very nice view, much to occupy him). She pulls a towel from the rack and steps towards him with it, holding it out, like she intends to wrap it around him. He pushes himself off the wall to oblige her and she starts with gently pressing the cloth against his face, around his neck, down along the lines of his shoulders. She's careful and uses very little pressure, so Cal is able to stand there without holding onto anything and without losing his balance. She doesn't tease him much further, shaking the towel out and draping it around his back and shoulders. Gillian gets herself another towel from the cupboard under the sink and Cal just stands there watching as she runs the blue cloth all along very inch of her body (makes him want to trace his hands in the exact same pattern).

When she's dry she looks over at him as she wraps the towel around her body, under her arms, tucking in a corner at the top above her breast. She doesn't wait for him (maybe she's figured out he finds it so annoying if she panders to his broken limbs, picking up his crutches for him, that kind of thing) but heads into the bedroom. By the time Cal gets himself there (little bit slower with only one crutch and having to use the doorframes), Gillian is in pyjama pants and a light tank top (that leaves very little to his imagination) and is rubbing the ends of her damp hair with her towel.

Cal stands next to the bed (just in case he falls) and dries his top half as best he can. He wipes as much of the skin under his cast as he can reach and when Gillian leaves the room he quickly sits to do his lower half while she's not watching. And once he's done with as much of that as he can manage and be bothered with, he works himself under the covers (which is kind of like a worm squirming on the concrete in the spring sun). Cal's just burying his face in the pillow (he's on his stomach, where he basically crawled to) when Gillian comes back in. She grabs his bare ass and makes him flinch all awkwardly (squirming worm on the sun warmed concrete...). She leans over him, laughing, while he protests, grumbles at her really; he's already half asleep.

"You're just staying there then?" Gillian asks him.

"Mh hmm," Cal tells the pillow. He feels Gillian tug the comforter over him properly, hears the swipe of his towel over the sheet as she picks it up, the dip and pressure of her weight on the mattress as she leans over him. She massages his damp hair with the towel and Cal's jaw slackens open, a drawl escaping his throat. "Feels so good," he groans, the sensations shivering over his skull and down his neck. Gillian stops. "Aw," Cal complains sharply, trying to turn over and look at her. But she's sitting on his back and so he can't. "Why'd you stop?"

"I can't really reach," she tells him and climbs off.

"Tease," Cal mutters. He hears the lilt of Gillian's returning laugh but he doesn't bother to move for her. He doesn't move at all actually, so Gillian slides into the bed opposite him, sneaking in close so he's half lying on her. She moves his arm to get under it and Cal tries hard not to smile; he _loves_ that she's so affectionate after sex (especially because in the beginning he worried that she was too distant). He doesn't mind being smothered by her. He's aware of the irony. He likes that he's getting used to them being together more and more.

Gillian works a finger beneath his cast. "Your skin feels damp."

"Hm," Cal answers, not sure what her point is.

"Might get all swampy in there."

Well, yeah, that might not be pleasant but, "Are you telling me off for joining you in the shower?"

"No," Gillian answers and her tone is tight. "Just don't want you to rot under there," she adds on a whisper

Cal huffs a laugh and tightens his arm over her stomach, so that he's pressing her closer. Gillian doesn't squirm to be released, she wiggles her way closer. Her fingers play in his hair and she strains to lean over to give the side of his head a kiss.

"Is bed ok?" Cal asks her, thinking it's probably early and they're already in bed in the dark. He just feels tired.

"Yes, bed is ok," Gillian whispers. "The shower is ok too," she tells him but he's starting to drift off. And when he wakes up in the morning, he's alone. Alone and naked in her bed, disorientated for a second and that familiar disappointment of her being gone. When he finally works his way downstairs the house has that odd empty feeling; a sense of melancholy. Cal sighs at the kitchen bench and resigns himself to another day of mindless occupation until Gillian comes home again.


	14. Chapter 14

When Gillian wakes that morning (to her alarm... of course) she's in a strange position. She's across the mattress, under Cal (at first she just feels the heavy weight of something on her and is freaked out); he's literally lying on half of her. She's hot, sticky and damp with sweat and her thundering heart (still hates been woken to the alarm) makes it all worse. She extricates herself from underneath Cal's prone body roughly. He's still lying on his stomach, which means he hasn't moved much in the night (she might have noticed if he had). He doesn't move much now. There's a grumble as she leaves but he tucks his arm under the pillow, tugging it into a more comfortable position and remains quiet. Gillian goes to take a quick shower in the bathroom, washing away the stickiness on her skin. She thinks Cal's arm and leg, under the casts, must be swampy anyway, what with all the, uh, physical exertion they've been doing. He got them changed at half way but it will be another long three weeks before they come off all together and he can bathe properly.

As Gillian dries off in the bathroom (her towel's still damp from last night, which is not pleasant...) she wonders if she should wake Cal to help him downstairs (although he got upstairs on his own. And he would hate for her to mother him like that). She wonders if she could actually sufficiently wake up. He sleeps through her alarm and her getting out of bed. She wonders how long he sleeps in the morning. She wonders how far she can push Cal while he's asleep. She goes to the bedroom (completely naked) and turns the overhead lights on. He doesn't shift or make a noise, definitely not a complaint. So Gillian goes about getting dressed. She does her makeup and straightens her hair (and isn't quite and considerate about it) and is ready to go, and still, from the bed, there is nothing. Amused, she places her standard kiss to the side of his head (which she does every morning now, even though he clearly doesn't notice it) and puts the lights out for him again before she goes downstairs.

The world is quiet, like it usually is, and Gillian notices that it's starting to feel like normal. She drives now familiar streets to work and lets herself into the hollowness of the main school building. It's still cold in her office (the heat hasn't kicked in properly yet) so she keeps herself moving around (doing errands and the like) until she feels brave enough to take her coat off. Then she settles into her morning routine. When the first bell finally goes she's pulled from concentration (and no matter how many mornings she has to start early, no kid has come in to see her). It happens the same for most of the morning, she gets into a zone, and the bell pulls her from it. She thinks that eventually, she'll get so used to it, she won't hear it anymore; like Cal sleeping through her alarm.

At the start of the third period, Jerome Manning comes to knock on her door. She's expecting him (hasn't forgotten) so welcomes him in with a pleasant smile, like she always does. It amazes her how quickly all this new has become a routine. Jerome closes the door, takes his seat on the couch, but instead of sitting right on the end, as far from her as he can get, he sits in the middle, puts his bag on the cushion beside him. Gillian watches his face carefully as she takes her seat, stealing lengthy glances as he pretends to be busy and avoid her gaze. They both settle and Gillian opens up his folder, to leave it across her knees. It's been more to do with having something to do with her hands than having a need for it to be open for reference (she already knows everything there is to say in it) and now it's a habit (another one).

Jerome's eyes flicker over to hers and then look down at his hands, his long slender fingers (basketballer's fingers, Gillian thinks, but he doesn't play that kind of ball) sliding against each other, lacing and unlacing; there is something on his mind, and the words are very nearly coming out of his mouth (there's a tremor of lip movement to observe as well) but for now he's still hesitating. Gillian asks him how his day has been (she means the entire period of time since she saw him last, because it hasn't actually quite been a day) and he gives a nod and a frown of his mouth and shifts his butt on the cushion (reminds her of Cal and the fidgety way he sits). She's preparing herself to ask how's he finding school, whether he's had any conversations with his baseball coach or teachers, if he's ready to work with her and make some progress (because his body language is the most receptive it's been in a week and he's making tentative eye contact) but he surprises her.

"How was your week?" He asks politely. He even makes eye contact and _holds_ it.

Gillian knows she does a shit job of hiding her surprise, but he won't be able to see the finer details of it. "Fine thank you," she answers and before she can get another word in he's speaking again.

"Who was that guy that was here yesterday?"

Gillian has to take a second to form a proper response (she's that thrown. And not just because he's talking to her, but the subject matter too. What is everyone's fascination with Cal?) "Uh, Cal is my." Damn, why is this question so hard to answer? "Why don't you tell me how it's going with Coach Faraday?"

Jerome immediately scowls and looks away to the door. Gillian half thinks she's pushed too hard far too soon (but she can't very well talk about herself here), however, he turns his head back to her, and even though he talks to her shoes he does admit that he's had no contact with Faraday. "Why not?" Gillian pushes softly. "I thought you were going to… try?"

"Yeah well, he hates me," Jerome mutters.

"Hate is a strong word," Gillian counters automatically. "He doesn't hate you. He's just frustrated." She watches the muscles flex in Jerome's jaw. "And so are you," she goes on. "I understand that."

"You're just paid to care."

Gillian sits back in her chair like she's been slapped. She takes a calming breath and reminds herself of the bigger picture; she's not going to get sucked into a teenager's tantrum. "Yes," she agrees and Jerome's eyes flicker to hers. "But that doesn't mean that I don't care. Your English teacher gets paid to teach you English, but that doesn't mean he doesn't genuinely want you to learn it. And Faraday gets paid to teach you how to play baseball, but that also doesn't mean he doesn't want to see you succeed at the sport. Yes, I get paid to be here. But I care Jerome. I don't just care because it's my job to, I care because I actually care." He's looking at her now and she lets a beat pass between them so he can see she's genuine. "Why else would I torture you with having to come and see me every day?"

He smiles. He fully smiles, and then he tries to hide it and look away. Too late.

"How about homeroom?"

Jerome shrugs.

"You're going," Gillian notes. She gets reports on his attendance, because it's an issue. And aside from one late class, he's been very good with his tardiness. Which tells her he cares just as much as she does. If he didn't, after the big meeting, he would have just not come to school at all. Not only is he still attending, he's no longer tardy.

"Yep," Jerome agrees with her.

"That's great," Gillian enthuses but she doesn't get a response from Jerome; it's like he's not proud of himself. "Have you thought about going to talk to Coach Faraday?"

"He doesn't want to hear from me."

"The thing is Jerome, he does," Gillian counters firmly. He looks at her, proper eye contact again. "He's waiting to hear from you."

"Why do I have to make the first move?"

"Because you were the one that did wrong."

"According to him," Jerome mutters, looks away.

"Perhaps," Gillian concedes. "I don't think it matters who started it. It matters what you do next."

Jerome shrugs and Gillian swallows back the frustration. Teenagers can be so annoying… so unhelpful. So…

"This is how it works Jerome," Gillian changes tact. "You can get into a pissing match with Faraday about who's right and wrong but you'll never win it because he's an adult and you're not. And there's just no way around that. Even if you are in the right, you're not going to get a victory. Or, what you can do is learn to play the game and get what you want without acting like a child."

Jerome's eyes get wide as they look back to her and Gillian thinks she might have taken it a little too far. She wants to light a fire under his ass, not get herself fired.

"Like how?" Jerome mumbles at her.

"You go to Faraday, and you make amends."

Jerome folds his arms across his chest. "I'm not apologising to him."

Gillian supresses the sigh she usually reserves for Cal. "I'm not talking about saying you're sorry, I'm talking about making it right again."

Jerome sits there for a moment and then he loosens his arms and lets his hands fall to his lap.

"You want to play baseball?" Gillian asks him bluntly, waiting for the receptiveness to come back. "Honest answer."

"Yes," Jerome mumbles.

Gillian leaves that between them. It's a simple equation: Jerome's desire plus his ability to set things right again equals him playing ball.

"So I don't have to say sorry?"

"No," Gillian says slowly. "You don't always have to say the word. Sometimes it's not enough. Sorry comes in different forms. I don't think walking up to Faraday and saying you're sorry is going to do you any good." Because it will just be degrading for Jerome and he's already had enough of a tough time with this school. She doesn't need him running himself down further, but instead is trying to build him up. Besides, she thinks Faraday might enjoy it too much, that tiny little bit of grovelling, and even though Jerome has to be the one to make the first move, it doesn't mean she thinks the coach is entirely without fault. "But you do have to make it right."

"How do I do that?" Jerome asks quietly.

"It will take time to figure out." Gillian pauses but there's no frown from Jerome, no scoff or eye roll, no defensive gesture and she thinks 'aha!'; she's got him. Finally. She's got him. And all of that because of Cal? Surely not. "But we can do it together if you want?" As always, there has to be an agreement, a contract between them. Otherwise she'll never be able to help him.

Jerome shrugs at her. So Gillian just sits there and waits. "Yeah. Ok," Jerome says borderline hostile, but lucky for him, Gillian knows it's not real. "Yeah if you'll help me."

"I do want to help you."

"Ok then. What do I have to do?"

"What coach Faraday wants to see from you, and from every player on any of his teams, is commitment right?"

Jerome shrugs at her but she ignores it.

"So what does that mean?"

"Show up to practice."

"Right!" Gillian agrees brightly.

"I'm not allowed to practice."

"At the moment," Gillian counters. "You're not allowed to play. But Faraday didn't say you weren't allowed on the team."

"That makes no sense," Jerome challenges.

"What I mean is, there are other people on the team who don't necessarily pick up a bat right?"

"Everyone bats," Jerome counters.

"There are people who show up for practice that aren't players," Gillian tries again.

"Cheerleaders?"

Not quite…

"I'm thinking about the people who support the team."

Jerome gives her an upturn of his lip. "Like the equipment guys?"

"Yes."

Jerome's lip curls further into disgust.

"What it will show Faraday, is that you're willing to be there. That you can show up to a commitment on time. And it also shows him that you're willing to be a team player," Gillian tells him firmly. "But it's up to you."

Jerome gives a pout of his mouth. "I guess."

"It's just an idea," Gillian tries to back pedal, to see if she can reel him in a little closer.

"Yeah I guess," Jerome repeats.

Gillian figures that's something. This session, has, at least, been progress. Any conversation would have been progress, but at least they also actually discussed something of importance. She wonders whether it was prompted by Cal's presence yesterday, or whether it had been building on its own. She thinks she will ask Jerome more tomorrow when he comes back to see her. For now, the bell rings to end their conversation. Gillian walks Jerome to the door and bids him a good afternoon. He shoots a 'you too' over his shoulder before he goes and she wonders how he got himself into trouble, when really, what she sees, and what she knows to be true, is that he's a polite and genuine young man. She knows there's more to it. There's something else that's going on with him, probably something at home, but at heart, he's a good kid.

With excitement, Gillian writes up her notes from the session (there is actually something to write on this occasion!) and prepares for her next one (which is so much easier than Jerome, which isn't necessarily a good thing). She has lunch later in the early afternoon, her usual time, and thinks about Cal. Her days are filled but she wonders what he does in the house by himself all day. It's been wonderful to see him doing laundry, maybe some basic cleaning, and certainly taking care of food; all the domestic things. Like she thinks he should, really, considering he's home all day and has nothing else to do. If their roles were reversed, she would do the same. She used to have a rule with Alec, that whoever got home first would have to start on dinner. More often than not, that was her, and it got tiring. He worked late, she knew that, but it still started to feel like a burden, like she was the one doing all the work (and then, yeah, she also means she was the one doing all the work on their marriage as well). She worked late too. She was tired as well. And he never put in the effort to get there first, to cook for her for once. She thinks it could be the same with Cal if she's not careful. If she learned one thing from being married to Alec, it's that she can't go through a relationship without making conscious efforts. There has to be push and pull. She knows they're still settling (and admittedly, they're probably in the best space they've been in for a long while), but Gillian suddenly feels flushed with worry.

She definitely does not want to see her relationship with Cal go the way her relationship with Alec did.

**PJ**

Cal's so down with this domesticity shit that he gets laundry done and some cleaning (downstairs bathroom) and all before the weekend (that way, he can enjoy being with Gillian without her insisting they do boring crap like laundry or cleaning). He even has dinner in the oven ready by four, even though he also takes regular breaks during the day when he gets tired of holding his leg off the ground. For lack of being able to wander around the stores, he shops online instead. He gets himself a new watch. Much of everything else feels superfluous at the moment. He can't wear new shoes (he could wear new shoe) and he doesn't have much need for suits, ties and coats (if he doesn't leave the house, what is the point?) and besides, there isn't a lot of discretionary income (and it wouldn't feel right to spend all of the money, even though Gillian doesn't seem overly worried about it).

But after he's done that, he's bored again. He's proper bored. He's so bored, he's tempted to just ring Ria at the Lightman Group and have her talk him through what's happening over there. He tries to distract himself with a movie but he barely follows it, keeps thinking about how badly he wants to get the fuck out of there. It's not bad enough that his leg is broken, he has to be completely cut off from everything he found intellectually stimulating. Except for Gillian (small mercies). Only, she's at work, and he can't call her either and alleviate his mind (it's worse than the itch of his leg under the cast).

It's been a month. A month since this whole shitty affair started and he's had enough of it.

And then before he lets himself get agitated, he picks up his phone and texts Gillian (it's a compromise). He asks her what time she'll be home, acting like he can't quite remember if this is one of those days where she went to work early. Even though he hopes to get a reply, he's not exactly expecting one, figuring she's going to be too busy for him, but she does actually text back within a few minutes. Cal's tempted to call her, but refrains. He doesn't know what she's doing or how busy she is. Instead, he spends a few minutes thinking of something else to ask her, keep the conversation going. He's unimaginative, but she plays along, and he thanks the world again that she's in his life. This whole shitty affair would be an absolute nightmare if it weren't for Gillian.

Cal thinks he might be dozing when he hears keys in the front door and Gillian is home. His frustration from earlier is perhaps not entirely abated, but he has made promises that he's no longer going to take it out on her, so he gets up from the couch and welcomes her home. It's worth it for the smile she gives him, the way she crosses to meet him, placing a steadying hand on his cheek and her mouth against his. She steps in close, gives him a chance to balance properly and kisses him again, this time her body brushing against his. Cal wonders if she knows how she soothes him, because she does. When she pulls back she studies his face and asks him what's wrong.

"Nothing," Cal immediately answers. "Hungry?" He changes the subject (he's never been comfortable talking about himself).

"Yeah," Gillian agrees. "But. Can we talk about something first?"

"Ok," Cal says but feels a little hesitant. Gillian's gotten very serious and after a second of letting her 'talk' request sink in, he has a sudden paranoid flash that she's found out about him emailing the Group. Gillian shifts her weight on her feet and Cal starts to think she's nervous; this can't be about the emailing (he's pretty sure she'll be livid and this is not angry that he's seeing).

"I don't want to use condoms anymore," she says, raising her head so her eyes meet his and her chin is confident.

He was not expecting that. But he's actually quite pleased. "Ok," he agrees with a slight smile.

"Ok?"

"Not going to complain about that," Cal adds. He's grinning but Gillian mirrors it and he likes the way she's almost embarrassed but is still assured.

"Ok, but," Gillian goes on.

"But?" Cal prompts and he feels wary (how can there be a 'but' to not using condoms anymore?)

"Uh, would you go and… get tested?" She goes on quickly, "Not that I'm trying to imply that you would need to specifically or anything." She trails off all embarrassed and there's a second of awkward silence.

"Doesn't hurt to be sure though does it?" Cal saves her.

"No," Gillian agrees.

Cal gives a half-hearted little shrug to say he doesn't mind, he'll go get checked, small price to pay really (cos God it is _so_ worth it to ditch the condoms. And he would _really_ be interested in ditching them with Gillian). The truth is, he doesn't really know for sure, even though he's pretty sure he's been careful with every woman he's been with (recently), and he's not felt… itchy or anything. What he doesn't know is that Gillian's also thinking 'well that was easy enough' at the same moment.

"You're gonna get tested too then yeah?" Cal adds.

"Yes," Gillian answers simply after a beat.

Well that's good, Cal thinks. That this goes both ways. Not that he thinks she would accuse him of sleeping around or being unsafe in particular… Gillian's not much of a hypocrite.

Gillian gives a concluding nod and starts to turn away for the door. She's still wearing her coat, so literally, the first thing she did when she came through the door tonight was kiss him (makes him feel good, thinking about that). "Wait," Cal stops her though. "One more thing."

Gillian turns back, expectant.

"What about… the birth control part of it?" He tries to ask carefully. It's going to be a sensitive subject (with her, because she's not a mother and because of her age. He's not sure of her fertility in either instance).

Gillian's eyes flicker to her feet for just a second, but Cal sees it and he notices how the room feels tenser than it did before. He half thinks he's an asshole for asking, but still wants an answer. He's not trying to pry, he just thinks it's fair enough if she can come in and ask him to go get an STD check (that did sound callous).

"Uhm," Gillian says and meets his eye again. "I can't have kids."

"Oh," Cal nods (he's trying to be empathetic). "I always hoped it was Alec."

Gillian gives a flicker of a smile, which then slowly blossoms into something small and wounded. "No. It was me."

"Sorry," Cal says automatically.

"It's ok," Gillian tells him softly, her hand coming out to touch his arm. She doesn't say it aloud, but it's there, written in the air: it's ok for him to ask.

"Want to eat?" Cal asks gently.

Gillian smiles again, more genuine this time. "Sure." Cal goes to the kitchen and Gillian strips off her coat, when she joins him she serves up chicken and rice casserole (with lots of vegetables), oohing and ahhing over how good it smells and looks. At the table, Gillian asks about his day and Cal gives his standard non-answer, because there is nothing to report (except for that email thing. But... he's working how to bring that up. He thinks). Instead, he asks about her day.

"It was actually really good," Gillian tells him genuinely, meeting his eye in a meaningful way; a way that gets his full attention. "I had this… amazing breakthrough with one of the kids and…" She's almost giddy with it, excited, and Cal smiles.

"What happened?" He prompts.

"He just… You know? I don't know. He's been freezing me out for a week and today he comes in and… he starts talking!"

"Must have worked your magic," Cal notes, stabbing at some broccoli.

"No I don't think it was me," Gillian counters. She puts some carrot in her mouth. "I actually think it was you."

"Me?" Cal asks incredulously.

"Yeah you."

"I wasn't even there."

"He saw you yesterday, when you came in for lunch?"

Cal keeps his eyebrows raised in disbelief; he's not taking responsibility for this, whatever this is.

"Anyway," Gillian goes on when Cal refuses to react. "He asked about you and that broke the ice and we got talking and it was… just really great," she finishes lamely.

Cal lets the surprised nonchalance drop and gives her a small grin instead. "You sound happy," he says, a statement and nothing else. Her eyes are bright and her mouth has a permanent twist into a smile (she also leans towards him when she talks and he thinks he can detect one of her legs close to his under the table, but he hasn't decided if he wants to check. When he looks at her, happy like this, it reminds him that she's settling, that she's making a life here, and he's stuck in a frustrating limbo, and that makes him feel unpleasant things that he doesn't want to name, lest he let it ruin her as well as him).

Gillian cleans up the kitchen and they watch TV; their routine. Gillian makes it until nine o'clock before she says she's going to bed. Cal's not remotely tired, but he goes with her. They have a bed routine too and as Cal is lying in bed waiting for Gillian to come in, he thinks about it, thinks how domestic they've gotten. How a week ago it was kind of strange but now it feels normal; considers that's a long way for them to have come in a short time (thinks there might be hope for them after all). He starts to ponder about how she makes him feel, not the flushed, attracted kind of feelings, but the ones where he's glad to see her, when he feels more relaxed because she's home, how he looks forward to hearing about her day. It was different when they worked together, they mostly talked business; he knew how her day had been. And he guesses it's kind of nice this way, to have her come home and talk to him about it (she really was very excited about that kid); it kind of makes him feel important and valued and other… sentimental kind of stuff he doesn't normally think about (but maybe he's been otherwise too busy to slow down and notice. This place has got him thinking a lot. Probably because he has nothing else to do).

Gillian closes the bedroom door and puts out the lamp beside the bed before scooting under the covers. She sighs as she settles on the mattress; wary.

"I think you work too hard," Cal tells her in the darkness.

She laughs softly. "I work less hours now than I did when I was at the Group."

She tosses it in there so casually, Cal's not sure how he feels (to just mention their old lives like it wasn't violently torn away from them with the wounds raw and ragged?) He doesn't say anything, searching for the right come back, when Gillian speaks again. "Could already do with a vacation though," she says softly.

"The trip to Minnesota wasn't enough?" Cal quips back. Gillian laughs again and shifts in the bed. She slides an arm under his head and presses herself against his left arm, so that she's kind of… cradling him. Cal's pretty sure he's never been held that way before and it's nice. Actually, it's really nice; he feels like he could confess his soul and she would take the utmost care.

"I want to hold you," Cal whispers into the darkness, starting on those confessions (it kind of tumbles out of him before he realises he's said it).

Gillian hums and presses her mouth against his hair. They both know it's nearly impossible for him to turn on his side, and he's not going to ruin the moment. "Soon," she responds. Cal sighs heavily, causing her to press another kiss against his hair.

Cal feels bold in the dark. Funny, considering he loves so much to watch faces in the light. It's more to do with Gillian not being able to see him; a security blanket.

"Gill?"

"Mm?" She murmurs.

"You're asleep," Cal whispers.

"M not," she mumbles back.

"You are."

"Tell me."

"It'll keep."

"Tell me tomorrow," Gillian suggests instead.

"All right," Cal agrees.

The room is silent for a moment and then Gillian's breath scuffles in the darkness. "Promise?"

"Promise," Cal repeats.

Gillian extricates her arm sometime in the early morning, when Cal is just starting to drift off. And in the morning when he wakes, she's gone.


	15. Chapter 15

It's nearly lunchtime and admittedly, Gillian's been watching the foyer of the guidance suite. She's not had appointments for the last period, so her door is open and she can see everyone who comes and goes (she hadn't actually realised how busy the suit could be). What she's doing is looking for Cal. He said he'd go see a doctor today and every other time he's left the house he's come to see her. He hasn't said he's going to stop by or anything, she's just… half expecting it (or hoping). He's shown up early every other time so when there's ten minutes to go before the bell will ring, Gillian gets a sinking disappointment that he's not going to make it. She takes out her phone and checks for messages from him, but there are none (no messages at all and she thinks that no one has contacted her on that number yet either. Who would?) So she texts him instead, asking if he's in the neighbourhood. Nice and casual.

Cal's reply comes quickly: _No. At home._

Gillian has a new message open to reply to him when another comes through before she can start typing. _Was I meant to be?_

No, she tells him. She was just asking. He said he was going to be in town so she wondered if he was going to stop by. Its ok, she'll go to the staff lounge to reheat her leftovers.

There's a longer pause this time. But when the message comes through Cal's 'voice' sounds remorseful: _Sorry. Went out, came straight back._

(What she doesn't know is that Cal is back at the house, proper kicking himself for not thinking to stop in for lunch. Golden opportunity wasted. And from her texts, he's thinking she's disappointed that he hasn't visited. He's an idiot).

Gillian tells him to not worry about it. It's not a big deal. The bell goes and signals her lunch break and so she heads through the crowded hallways of teenagers drifting to new lessons to the staff lounge (it's a short distance). The thing with split lunch times for staff is that it means that the room is only partially used during this time, and therefore there aren't many people there. Gillian uses a microwave to heat her casserole (which smells extremely good. Cal really is a very good cook. He puts her to shame) and stands by as it goes around and around. Not to guard it (there isn't exactly a crowd), but because she's not familiar enough with these people to strike up a casual conversation. It's not like her to be so… cautious (it's not because she's afraid; that would be ridiculous), it's just that, well, it's not even that she thinks any one of these people could be a Jerome Willis spy, or that someone's going to figure out who she is and nark on her… it's just that she's worried that if she talks about herself she'll let slip details that don't add up, or forget what she's told someone and poke holes in her own story. It's unnerving to not be sure of who she is (for a second, she thinks Cal's got it easier, sitting at home, not having to explain himself to anyone, and then she remembers that he was trying to talk to her last night, about being… not happy, and she vows to bring it up when she gets home that evening; it sounded like it was important. Besides, when does he ever come to her to talk about something?)

The microwaves goes dark and signals it's done. Gillian opens a drawer looking for cutlery and comes up short. "The next one over," a male voice directs and she's glancing up to shoot Reece a quick 'thank you' before finding the right implement. His smile is easy (and gorgeous, to be fair) but she vacates the kitchenette area before he can strike up more conversation. She likes him and all, but she's wary, for all the reasons stated above. Gillian finds an empty table, tries not to think about any kind of perceived slight she might have demonstrated to the other teachers sitting at the other tables (this isn't high school… … …ok it is, but she's not having to deal with teenagers in here. They're all adults). She gets her phone out of her pocket, checks for texts from Cal and finds, to her surprise, a pouting emoji (it's a sad face) and '_I wish I had'_.

It makes her heart beat a little funny, enough for her to notice. She has a sudden strong wish for him to be there. Sitting in a staff room like this, with her left over's lunch, it reminds her of being at the Group, and she misses it and him (misses the way things were and could have been). And yes, it wasn't often she got to sit and take her lunch like that, but when she did, especially when they were first starting out, Cal would be there with her. She wants him with her there now. She feels like a five year old on the first day of school, with no friends to sit with, and she's in danger of letting the hiding witness situation overwhelm her.

She texts Cal back while her lunch cools (the irony of heating it and letting it get cool again): _me too_. She leaves it with just those two words and knows he'll be able to read everything else she didn't say. The regret feels intense and she wonders why it's bothering her so much today. Because it's Friday and she's a bit over being at work? She's maybe a bit hormonal? She's homesick? (That might not be a question.)

"That smells amazing."

"That smells amazing."

Gillian looks up as Reece takes a seat next to her, his own lunch on a plate in front of him (sandwiches and potato chips). She gives him a polite smile (forced, but he wouldn't know so). "It does," she agrees.

"Your complication cook?"

It takes a second for Gillian to get what he means.

"Cal?" He goes on, with a sideways smile. "Your complication?"

"Yes," Gillian says stiltedly. "He cooks," she affirms, though she's not sure she's happy with the 'complication' part (even if it's probably an apt adjective. The point is, it's not up to Reece to decide whether her relationship with Cal is complicated or not. Even if Cal was the one who said it, she begrudgingly adds, it's none of Reece's business). Gillian keeps her phone in her lap so she can feel it buzz when Cal texts her back and starts eating. Reece starts on his food as well and it at least buys Gillian half a minute of peace before he asks her how she's settling in.

"Good," she smiles politely again. She's not sure what it is about Reece that makes her uncomfortable. Could be the stranger danger kind of thing that makes her feel paranoid. Or it could be because she gets a definite 'vibe' from him; an interested kind of vibe (which is even more unsettling, because he _knows_ she has a complication. Maybe it's the complicated part that's throwing him off taking a hint that she's kind of, maybe, sort of taken. Or at least unavailable. She made it clear she was unavailable right?) She's saved from more conversation by another text from Cal. He asks her how her day is going (and she gets the impression that's not what he wanted to say, like he chickened out and went for mundane, safe). She texts him back, tells him it's good, she's looking forward to the weekend (and she gets a sudden flush of heat from dirty thoughts; even worse that she's sitting next to a complicated colleague) and she asks him what he's up to.

She puts her phone back in her lap, concentrates on her food. It's just as good the second day. She's hyper aware of Reece next to her, and the banter of the other staff in the background. She wonders what she can possibly bring up in conversation that's not going to lead to… well, too much conversation but he breaks the silence between them by asking if she has plans for the weekend. "No," she admits. "Not particularly." Again, dirty thoughts about Cal. "What about you?"

"Might come down for the baseball game on Saturday," he says. Gillian nods along; she has no intention of attending (she doesn't feel much school spirit). Cal texts to interrupt. He tells her he's started on dinner prep. Gillian, surprised, given the time of day, asks him what they're having. When she's finished texting, Gillian realises she's being rude. And her momma raised her right. She abandons the phone, looks over at Reece, tries.

"Do you have a partner Reece?"

"I date a bit," he replies with a smile.

Hm, on second thought, maybe not a great topic to start with.

Gillian nods. "Do you follow the baseball here?" She means at the school and Reece understands that (she has _no_ idea who the Colorado baseball team is. Or if they have one. Or their football team, for that matter, though she knows they do have one. But, at least, if someone mentions it to her she can feign ignorance in an ok way because they've moved to Colorado just a few weeks ago. They're not passing themselves off as natives. That is at least not a lie).

"The school team? I kind of keep tabs on them. You're dealing with Jerome Manning right? He's a talented kid."

"So I've heard," Gillian notes cautiously. She's not supposed to discuss her clients with anyone else. Not even the VP or Jerome's own mother. She can only report on what she feels Jerome needs by way of what the school can provide.

"You've not seen him play?"

"No," she admits.

"You've got to get him back out on the field, Doc."

Gillian's startled by the use of the title, and the text that buzzes right next to her groin (not really helpful, or perhaps it could be, when she's been thinking rude thoughts about Cal).

"You are a doctor, right?" Reece presses casually. Casually to the untrained observer, but Gillian sees the slight narrowing of his eye, the press of the corner of his mouth, the tension held in his body while he waits for her answer. Somehow, it feels as if she denies it, he's going to call her out as a fake, and she doesn't get why, doesn't have time to even be working out why, so just answers truthfully. Reece gives a nod. "Then what brings you here to Boulder?"

Now, that is a good question. He just doesn't know how good. He thinks it's strange that she's over qualified for her job. He's got no idea how strange it all is.

Gillian gives a kind of nonchalant shrug and a smile. "I needed a change."

He doesn't know how life-threateningly desperately she needed that change.

"It just felt like the right thing to do," Gillian adds, going for warm, a little amusing, maybe a little self-depreciating. If she had _any_ idea what Cal was going to do with his life from now on, she might have blamed it on him (has forgotten that he's already been telling people that they moved here for her work), so she can deflect. But as uncomfortable as she finds it talking about herself now, she does also realise that she can't stay silent about it forever; that also makes people suspicious.

Every time she tries to steer the conversation around to Reece, he steers it back. So instead of actually having an easy discussion, they almost end up in an interrogation (and for a moment, Gillian feels scared that maybe he's not who he says he is either, which she then dismisses as paranoia, because he can't possibly be a threat to her). They take turns asking questions until they're out of food and Reece excuses himself to go outside to have a smoke. It does let Gillian off the hook. She puts her used fork in the dishwasher and takes her plastic container back to her office. She's forgotten about Cal's text until she puts her phone down on the desk, and then reaches for it again with eagerness.

Surprise, is the message back from Cal. Gillian has to scroll up and read her last text to remind herself about what they were talking about. Dinner is going to be a surprise. Every meal has been a surprise. It was a surprise the first time he even cooked, especially with his broken arm. Gillian isn't sure what to say in response. She thinks maybe something pithy or flirty, but she can't think. The bell signals the end of the period and technically, she's back on the clock. So she tells Cal that and that she looks forward to seeing him, and then she puts her phone on silent and puts it back in her bag, just as Jerome Manning walks in. She's a little caught off guard but she remembers what Reece said to her before: get him back on the field. She thinks Jerome would be down with that idea too.

**PJ**

Cal's quite got the hang of this online shopping thing. Today he does food. He buys wine for dinner and steaks and then other general kind of stuff. It's kind of win-win. He's bored and needs something to do, and now they won't have to worry about it on the weekend; more quality time together (and Gillian won't drag him out of the house for it. Though she might attempt to drag him out of the house for other reasons. And he might let her). Today has actually been quite a good day. He's managed to keep himself entertained (dinner prep requires more time and effort, which means more occupation), and, more importantly, Gillian text him. Admittedly, the first few texts kind of put him in a funk, because he realised she had wanted to see him and he had overlooked that opportunity (which he can remedy on Monday; he's sure he can find an excuse to leave the house, even if it's merely to go down and have lunch with her. Even though the physical effort is a chore), and he was kicking himself about it, but then the texting became kind of nice, even though the conversation was nondescript. He was disappointed when she told him she had to go back to work.

He thinks it could be the start of something beautiful.

Cal knows Gillian. So he knows she likes her steak a strict medium. He's not a connoisseur or anything, and he doesn't know the oven well, but he hopes to have timed it right. The potatoes are finishing up in the oven with the steaks. There are green beans to chuck in the pot for a quick 'blanching' when Gillian gets home (Cal hopes she's on time, because there will be little leeway with the steaks) and he's made a red wine gravy sauce. Saying he made it might be a bit of a stretch, it's from a packet, but it did taste like shit until he added another glass of red wine and some black pepper.

Cal's busy with the tablet when Gillian gets home. There have been no more emails from Ria and its driving him nuts to be checking his email so often (he got a bit like that when texting Gillian earlier as well. Obsessively checking). He's trying to… feel another way, so he's limited the email checking to three (or four) times today. Instead, he's doing something different, drawing a picture actually. He calls a greeting to Gillian from the couch when he hears the front door. She greets him back and there's a pause before she comes into the room, coat and shoes already ditched. She leans over the back of the couch, draping her arms over his shoulders and chest, a loose embrace and plants a kiss against the side of his head.

"Oh so this is what you do all day huh?" She says.

"Hm," Cal answers absently, concentrating on his picture (while inside he feels warm and she smells good and he misses her when she's gone and it makes him all sappy and tingly).

"What are you doing?"

"Drawing a picture," Cal points out the obvious.

"For whom?" Gillian presses her head close to his as she watches over his shoulder.

"Uh," Cal looks up at the handle of the person he's locked in a battle of artistic and guessing skill with. "Someone who likes llamas, apparently."

Gillian gives a soft snort of amusement. "Is that Frodo?" She asks of his depiction.

"Yeah," Cal turns to her pleased. Gillian's close and when she smiles he can see all the delight in her eyes (and her freckles and the lines at the corners of her eyes and the flecks of black amongst the blue). She presses a kiss to his mouth this time and straightens up.

"Who knew you were so talented?" But it's not a question. She goes to leave the room.

"Wait," Cal calls to her, sending the picture for his opponent to guess (it's a new game he found today and it generates anonymous players for him, so it works). Gillian turns at the doorway, eyebrows raised. "Dinner? You want dinner?"

"Sure," Gillian smiles. "I'm just going to use the bathroom." She leaves and Cal struggles himself to his feet, swings his way into the kitchen and turns on the heat for the pot of water for the beans. He takes the steaks out of the oven, moving the beef to a wire rack so they can 'rest'. He's not been very good at the whole prodding the meat to see how well it's cooked. He can basically tell raw from overdone, so he hopes it's how Gillian likes it (he can at least deduce that they're not tough hunks of leather).

"Need me to do anything?" Gillian asks as she comes into the room. She's at his back quickly, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head (feels gooooood). "You need a haircut," she notes absently.

Boom! That's what he's doing on Monday. And then he can swing by to see her. He'll bring lunch

"Set the table?" Cal requests. Gillian obliges while he finishes up their meal. He directs her to the wine he's already opened, and she teases him for starting before her. He gives her a smirk and responds that he has to have something to get through the day and while she smiles at his quip, there's an edge of seriousness in her eyes. Cal serves up and Gillian carries their plates through. She's complimenting him on the food before he's sat, before she's even tasted it. And then she says something that makes him feel warm again: "You do take care of me."

Cal has no idea what to say to that, so softly requests that she pour the wine. Gillian gives him a quick smile before reaching for the bottle and while Cal's rethinking the steak thing, because he's not overly adept with his knife skills and broken arm, Gillian raises her glass. Cal quickly puts his knife down and picks his own glass up by the stem (easier than spreading his fingers around the fat part of the vessel). "Cheers," Gillian simply says and Cal echoes it. They sip. Gillian compliments him on the wine.

"Not bad for a five dollar bottle," Cal jokes and gets the rewarding huff and eye roll that only makes him smile further (she hates it when he's cheap. He's mentioned he knows her?) "How was your day?" He asks and he's genuinely interested (and not feeling jealous that she gets to leave. Has he, gasp, gotten used to this already?)

"Good," Gillian responds warmly. She tells him a bit about it. The usual kinds of things, busy most of the day and a good session with Jerome (Cal likes very much that she's confided in him a little bit. No proper details; that would be unprofessional and Gillian is anything but. There is sharing). Like usual, she asks him what he got up to and he confesses to grocery shopping online and then he remembers his watch and admits to that too. Gillian asks him about it, what it looks like and where he got it from. Cal's not sure, but he thinks maybe, on some level, he was half expecting disapproval (and then he figures it's just that the last time he was unemployed and sitting around the house all day he was with a different woman and that woman was not nearly as half laid back as Gillian is).

Gillian has to cut Cal's steak for him. Which doesn't even bother him. It's kind of cute, actually, and he gets what Gillian means by being taken care of. Of course, she does tease him about it, threatens to remove his utensils altogether if he can't handle them (and, rather flirtily, offers to spoon feed him as well, and he thinks he should have gotten ice cream, because that could have been a lot of fun. And he thinks, that even though he's home all day with his thoughts, that he doesn't really do a lot of thinking. Certainly not thinking things through properly. What a waste of his time).

After Gillian finishes eating, she sits with him while he works his way one handed through his food, and sips wine. He offers her another glass but she only pours herself another half. She asks him if he wants to do anything on the weekend but apart from giving her a lewd grin (which only makes her smile) he just shrugs. Seeing as it might be a hint, he asks her if she wanted to do something but she says no. They're silent for a few moments and it's not awkward. Cal can feel Gillian's eyes on him a lot and he kind of likes it. When he looks over at her she smiles and finally she gets up to clear her plate and Cal thinks she might just like being around him (and that feels pretty good). She comes back almost straight away and takes her seat again, wine glass in hand.

"Last night," she starts. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

Cal had almost forgotten all about that, and now that the subject has been brought up he feels a prickly nervous kind of warmth. "Oh," he says and chews to buy himself some time. Gillian sips her wine and waits patiently. "It doesn't matter," Cal tries (because he's chicken).

"Tell me," Gillian says lightly. She's not intense about it, but Cal gets the impression she will not let it go even at his most stubborn.

Cal takes a drink of his wine and swallows down his steak and looks over at her again. She's watching him neutrally, just waiting on him (he supposes she's done a lot of that in their years together). "I'm bored Gill."

There's a flash of surprise and she straightens up in her chair, affronted.

"Not right now," Cal backtracks (didn't plan that one well…). "I mean, being at home all day by myself. It's driving me nuts. I need something to do."

Gillian's surprise goes to a slight frown, but she's not deriding him, she's mulling over what he's said. "Something to do?" She repeats.

Cal realises it's a bit of an odd… request (except it's not a request. More like a cry for help). "Not that I'm saying you have to entertain me," he adds. "Just more like, I need something to do. I've been stalking liars for so long I don't know what else to do with my time."

Suddenly, it feels like a huge admission. A massive baring of his soul.

"Just wondered if you'd have any ideas," he mumbles and takes the last bite of potato.

Gillian sits quietly and when Cal glances up she's looking at the centre of the table thoughtfully. He loves the way she reacts to the things he tells her. He thinks he should tell her more things (like about emailing the Group – but not yet, not yet). "I'm not sure I can think of anything right now," she speaks softly and meets his eye. "Why don't we think about it for a few days?"  
>"All right," Cal agrees, because what else is he going to do?<p>

"You could call the marshals on Monday. They might be able to find some work for you. A job that… will let you sit at a desk," she adds with a slight smile.

Cal thinks that also sounds hideously boring (what the _fuck_ is he going to do behind a desk? Answer telephones?), but because Gillian's trying, he says he will. She promises him that they'll work on it (and that is at least something) and then gets up to do the dishes. With the table and kitchen cleared up (Cal has to admit, he likes that Gillian gets on it right away. Not to say that he thinks it's her job, he's just not quite realised how nice it is not to have to worry about that kind of thing the next day; everything feels complete by the time he goes to bed) they watch television for a while, the news, some comedy Gillian puts on, a current affairs show. And then Gillian turns the TV off and Cal figures she's calling bed time already (even though it's actually still quite early even by her standards).

"Want to go to bed?" Gillian asks and Cal's already reaching for his crutches, but something in her voice makes him turn back. And there's that look on her face. She leans in close to him and he angles his mouth to meet hers. Her kiss is hot and passionate and it makes him feel lightheaded. Her hands are firm against his body and under his clothes and she means business (he can barely manage to stroke at her thigh, and not because he's sitting at a weird angle and he's still unsure with his left hand, but because he can't think clearly enough to coordinate the rest of him).

"Yes bed," Cal murmurs against her mouth and she gives a hum. She's got him worked up so easily it seems unfair.

It's the oddest thing, Cal being on crutches. They can't hold hands as they head to the bedroom, cuddle, kiss their way down the hall, any of that kind of stuff. They literally have to pick themselves up and walk to the bedroom and then sort of awkwardly start again. Gillian though, she's wonderful. She makes him stand by the bed and holds on to him while she kisses him slowly. At first, it's just nice to be kissed. Then she carefully takes his shirt off, each arm at a time so he doesn't lose his balance and kisses him some more. She spreads those kisses down his neck to his chest and Cal feels the tension starting to build in him again. On the couch, it was hot and heavy and quick. Now in the bedroom it's all warm and intimate and slow.

She doesn't get down on her knees in front of him, for which Cal is grateful (don't get him wrong, it's not that he didn't totally _love_ the last blow job, it's just that, until he can reciprocate properly, he'd rather not be indebted), but she does put her hands in his pants and that's almost just as good (he really, _really_ loved the blow job. It was seriously, _seriously_ amazing. Actually now that he's thinking about it he might not mind too much if Gillian does get on her knees). Gillian's totally in control of everything, from when he takes his clothes off, to directing him to take some of hers off, to the bit where they get into bed, the condom bit (he'll be glad when that's done with), him touching her (when, where, how much, how fast, for how long); all of it timed brilliantly so that it's smooth, so that it's quietly intimate and amazing and… well… probably the closest they've gotten to making love so far. Even with his broken arm and leg. And Cal thinks he might not have been able to do it any better, to be honest.

Gillian is brilliant.

At everything apparently.

**PJ**

Gillian wakes in a slow lifting of the dreamy hazy state to lie in a contented comfortable warmth; conscious, but happily with her eyes still glued shut and the utter bliss of a relaxed body in the perfect position against mattress and pillow. The blanket is to her chin and she can feel the press of Cal's arm against her thigh. She's naked and she knows he's naked and with remembering last night (which was freaking amazing. Cal's very good at following instructions and he's even better when he starts anticipating what she wants before she has to voice it) it's a pretty nice way to start the weekend.

After replaying last night in her head a few times Gillian feels the tingle of needing the bathroom. She wonders what the time is (and hopes to god it is not before she normally wakes up during the week). Beside her, Cal sleeps on and for a while listening to the inconsistent rhythm of his breathing distracts her from the fact that she needs to get up. Eventually, she can't ignore it and reluctantly turns over. She tracks to the bathroom in the dark but puts the light on to shower. The brightness cuts through her retinas harshly and she hopes again that she's managed to sleep in, otherwise she might have to climb back into bed and try to go back to sleep.

Gillian's gotten used to having the morning to herself, the quietness of the house leaving her with her thoughts. She's thinking about last night again but in different ways. It feels like almost every day with Cal is a step forward; they're getting used to being with each other (it maybe feels a bit like falling in lll… like. Liking each other in new ways). And this last week in particular has been great because it's been all forward momentum and none of those disheartening backwards steps. Even though Cal confessed to her that he's starting to go stir crazy with the same four walls, he hasn't been taking the frustration out on her. And maybe, admittedly, because of that, Gillian's been neglectful. She's been caught up with work and spent less time thinking about how Cal is doing. He asked for help though, which, in her recollection, happens less often than a blue moon, so she's definitely going to work on the trust he's shown her and actually try to help him in some way.

After showering Gillian checks the time. She did sleep in! And even though it's still dark it's starting to turn into a reasonable hour. She thinks about waking Cal. She thinks about crawling back into bed with him and waking him. But she doesn't want to get back between sheets that need changing. Instead, she goes upstairs to dress. She makes herself coffee and breakfast, watches the way the sun starts to creep into the world, bringing it to life. She thinks driving up the Flatirons to watch the sun rising over the city would be amazing (but can't imagine waking Cal that early to go with her. Of course, she could go by herself).

While she's up there, Gillian tidies up, gives the bathroom a quick clean and swaps out the old towels for new ones. She empties the hamper and brings all the dirty laundry downstairs with her. She puts it in the machine and sets it to go. Then she goes to the downstairs bathroom and gathers up the towels from there. When she goes to the bedroom to pick up the clothes off the floor, she finds the bed empty and Cal gone. A thrill goes through her; he's awake!

She dumps more dirty laundry on the floor by the machine and goes to find him. Actually, she just calls out and follows his response to the living room. He's on the couch with a coffee cup, his hair dishevelled (sexy) and his eyes still sleepy. "Good morning," Gillian greets him.

"Morning luv," he responds leaning back against the back of the couch, moving his arm to lay along the top of the furniture.

Gillian takes the invitation and sits against him, her legs tucked up under her so she can give him a kiss and then hug him and rest her head on his shoulder for a moment. It's nice. It's so nice. She loves being with him like this.

"Sleep all right?" Cal asks.

"Yes," Gillian smiles. "Did you?"

"Uh huh," he says before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Not yet," Cal's voice is a warm rumble in his throat. Gillian runs her fingers down his ribs through his shirt. It's funny to be able to feel him. Yeah, she's touched him before, before all this, but she's spent more time thinking about it, and now she can. And it's funny how far or how much her impressions of him match up to reality. She knew he was a slight guy, but she didn't know she could feel his ribs through his clothes when he sits like this. And now she knows. She knows because she's sitting here with him, like this.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not that long."

"A few hours then?"

"Something like that."

Cal gives a snort or a huff. "You should learn to sleep in."

"I did," Gillian tells him.

"No post coital morning cuddle," Cal mumbles (or at least, that's what Gillian thinks he mumbles, because he really garbles the words, like he doesn't even really want to say them even though they're coming out of his mouth).

She pulls back to look at him. "Maybe you should wake up earlier."

Cal smirks to that. "Someone exhausted me last night. Needed all the rest I could get."

Gillian smirks right on back. "I didn't hear you complaining last night. You should have told me you needed some time out to have a rest."

Cal doesn't laugh, but his smirk turns into a highly amused grin that he cannot contain and then he chuckles. "Not complaining at all about last night," he says. "Was incredible." And it feels like it's all going to burst out of his chest (mostly, it's that he dared to confess).

"It was," Gillian agrees. "Really amazing." She gives him another kiss, this time letting it linger a little. "What do you want for breakfast?" She asks as she climbs off the couch.

"Bacon, eggs, beans, toast, roast tomato, hash browns, butter and sausage," Cal tells her as she's leaving the room.

"Jam?" She calls from the hallway in response.

"Please," Cal yells back by the time she reaches the kitchen.

Yep, it's a good start to the weekend. Incredible sex on Friday night (sure to be repeated at some point over the next few days), and yes, he missed getting to wake up with her that morning, but she's flirty anyway and now she's making him breakfast. Best jam on toast he's had in a while (she knows him so well, or at least aspects of him, that she butters the bread all the way to the edges of the crust like he likes. He doesn't even know where or when she would have noticed that. Perhaps she notices more than he realises. Which could be scary, if he lets it bother him).

So Cal sits and drinks his coffee and eats his toast while Gillian does something in the bedroom (which he finds out later is changing the sheets) and leaves him alone with his thoughts. During the week, when she's at work, he notices how empty the house feels, even knowing Gillian is just in the other room makes all the difference to the house feeling a bit like a home (not that he's settling, no, he's not; he still wants for them to go home to DC). Cal shifts to lie the full length of the couch, his broken leg resting up on the arm at the other end. He gives his toes a wiggle, checks they're still all right in there and reaches for the tablet on the coffee table. He brings it to life, checks his mail (nothing, gah), checks that drawing game (there's a picture for him to guess).

He hears Gillian enter the room behind him as he watches the picture unfold before him on the screen. "It's a ring," Gillian tells him.

"Spoiler."

"You looked like you were struggling," she tells him. She sits across his hips. Cal types in the word, and ta da, she's right. He blanks the screen and drops the tablet. "Cal, last night?" Gillian starts.

He gets serious, pushes his head back into the furniture to see her better. He doesn't get a chance to ask her 'what about last night?' (And he's suddenly a little nervous she's going to... complain or mention they never do some aspect of it again. Or something maybe not good, but he can't think what).

"Will you...?" She hesitates and it's cute. Very cute. Again, Cal prepares to use his words to encourage her query when she goes on, her voice soft but intimate (which makes it draw his attention completely). "Will you do it again? But use your mouth this time?"

It takes a second for the words to get through and then his face is blooming into an arrogant smile (for a micro-second it's pleased. Then it becomes a smirk). Gillian smiles back, but a little more bashful, coy, flirty. "Yeah go on," he tells her (ok, he really is pleased. Thrilled! Excited, even.) Just wait until she sees (feels) what he can do with his mouth. Gillian grips at his shoulder as she starts to grin (she looks just as pleased as he does). "But you have to help me out," Cal goes on. There's a flicker in her eyes that says she doesn't understand what he means. "You'll have to," he gestures to his face. She has to sit on him. He can't get on the floor; he's not good at physical manoeuvring at the moment.

Gillian gives another slightly embarrassed but also amused expression. "Ok," she presses a hard kiss against his mouth (even though it's slightly open) and climbs off him. She undoes her jeans and starts to shimmy out of them. Cal lifts his broken leg (which doesn't seem so heavy anymore, especially with the fibreglass) and shifts further down the couch so his head is lying flat on the cushion he's meant to be sitting on (which means his broken leg is at a fricking awkward angle half hanging over the edge of the arm of the couch, but he's willing to let that go in this situation). He settles back and a naked-from-the-lower-half-down Gillian settles back over him.

It's kind of self-conscious now, for both of them, which means there's no other way around it but to get on with it (unless they stop altogether). Cal encourages Gillian closer to his mouth with his hands on her thighs, so he doesn't have to strain his neck to reach (he won't be able to keep that up for long) and as she nudges forward she braces against the arm of the couch Cal's head has just vacated.

She's already a little turned on, which is great for Cal (and exciting!) and makes him wonder what she was thinking about while she was doing the _laundry_. He feels himself getting turned on as he takes his first taste of her. Gillian shivers and gives a tight moan and her hand is there, next to his ear, like she wants to touch herself as well. But her thighs squeeze in and there is no room; Cal wouldn't let her anyway. She asked him to do this and so he is; he's going to make her feel incredible, he's going to show her just how good at this he is (and in the sack, actually, by the way if and when he's given half the chance to take the lead and show her), he's going to have her coming back for more.

After exploring (and tasting and getting overexcited, and eager and wanting to be everywhere and do everything) around for a few moments, Cal settles into a rhythm (with all the sweet spots tentatively found and memorised) and so does Gillian with her hips. It's a light grinding against his mouth and chin and nose and he doesn't mind it. It is, at least, an indication that she's enjoying it, because he can't see her face (which is a bit of a shame). She also squeezes with her thighs and is groaning and moaning and huffing (audible response is very encouraging) and even though Cal can't see it, her face is showing nothing but ecstasy. But then it freezes. And Gillian shies away from Cal in an awkward jerk, "Emily!"

Cal grabs at her too late, looking up, utterly bewildered. What did he do? She's moving off him, hopping on one foot as she makes contact with carpet and tries to disentangle herself from him. "Where you going?" He utters quickly, pushing himself up on his elbows. He thought that was going quite well. He must have seriously lost his ability to read her (or totally missed something).

"Emily's here," Gillian strangles out, reaching for her clothes to quickly redress. There's a knock at the door.

Cal's heart goes very still.

Oh.

Shit.

He struggles himself to sit, feels himself going rapidly soft again, while Gillian scrambles crazily back into her clothes (she's quick with underwear, it's the jeans that catch her up) even as she's taking a few steps towards the front door. "Wipe your face," Gillian hisses at him as she finally gets her second leg into the denim and jumps to tug them up to her hips. Cal absently reaches his left hand to oblige (but then doesn't know what to do with it and has to wipe it on the inside of his shirt and hope it doesn't soak through and make a big mess). Gillian's at the door, pulling it open and smoothing down her hair, a smile on her face. Cal hears the two women greet each other and as he swivels around to get to his feet (foot). No shit, it's his daughter.

As he's standing and tucking his crutches under his arms he sees them have a brief hug. Gillian closes the door as Emily spots him, a huge grin on her face, and comes towards him.

But over his daughter's shoulder, Cal can see Gillian glaring at him.


	16. Chapter 16

She's not unhappy to see Emily. Not at all. She's glad Cal is reunited with his daughter. Absolutely. (Even though he _just_ saw her at Thanksgiving, which was only a few months ago.) It's his daughter, and she gets that. It would drive her nuts to be separated from a child of her own without ever knowing when or where she would see them again. So she gets it, she really does (because that has actually sort of happened to her). She knows Cal has been worried, probably can't imagine how much. And she's sure it would go the other way too, with Emily worrying about her father. That's fair enough. Especially under the circumstances.

But how did Emily know where they were? She can't have figured it out. There was nothing to go on. Gillian made sure she didn't tell Emily anything in that phone call. And besides that, when she had called the young woman, they had been in Minnesota. So how did she know to come to Colorado? And what is she even doing here anyway? Gillian thought she had made it clear on the phone, they were in a bit of trouble, and needed to be low key for a while (but maybe her idea of 'low key' and everyone else's idea of 'low key' is completely different; maybe the implied 'witness protection' had gone over the young woman's head). Emily showing up here is not great. She's not unhappy to see her, not at all, but the only way Gillian can figure it, in those few seconds it took her to go to the door and open it, is that Cal has something to do with it. And by the little flash of guilt in his eye, she'd say he has _everything_ to do with it. She can't accuse, because she doesn't know for sure yet, but her gut tells her he told, so this is all his fault. And he's an idiot. He's put them all in danger.

Gillian goes upstairs to... clean up again. She has another quick shower, tries to shut out of her mind what they were doing before she saw Emily walk past the living room windows (because, God, it was… it was just so… she can't form words good enough to describe how incredible it felt) and dresses again to go out. She needs to get out of the house, get some space, because she doesn't think she can be polite when she feels angry and surprised (ambushed) and... a little frustrated (she might not be entirely annoyed with Emily finding them; it might be a little bit to do with the frustration). She feels completely unsettled, like Emily is violating her private space (her safe haven). And it's weird because she's usually far more gracious when it comes to the younger woman (when it comes to most people).

Gillian manages to sneak out of the house without even saying goodbye (which might be a little petty, but she just can't face it). As she goes past the living room she can hear Emily asking about Cal's breaks and him assuring her he's fine (she doesn't even look in on them, just rushes quietly past the room to the front door, hoping neither of them sees her. Seeing as no one calls out to her, she'll assume they didn't). It makes Gillian feel more irritated and she slips on a jacket and goes out the front door. She's surprised to stumble onto a brilliantly sunny day (she wasn't paying attention before now) and it quietens her soul again. She takes deeper breathes, feels the sun on her face for a moment (remembers she's trying to get out of there without being stopped and goes to the car quickly). She lets the window down and heads out onto the street, letting the fresh air brush over her face (it's not icy, but it is still cool and she feels refreshed and more awake than perhaps she has in weeks). She feels an inane urge to cry and it's not the frustration from Cal not finishing anymore.

The thing with him is that she never really knows what to think or feel or where she stands or what he's thinking or feeling and what she's meant to do or how she's meant to behave. She and Cal were just starting to get somewhere... (and not just with the literal part of sex). She felt closer to him, like they were connecting or something (but maybe she's deluding herself. Maybe it's just about the sex), like maybe they were… opening up to each other, letting each other in a bit more (beyond a friendship level); it certainly seemed as though Cal was. And then this happens. He did this without telling her and it doesn't sit right with her. He craps all over that trust with doing these things behind her back. This isn't just his life he's messing around with. Not anymore.

Gillian heads to the nearest shops (what she considers as their 'local' shops now) and to the cafe there that she's gotten quite used to (they do great food, and the coffee is pretty nice as well). She orders a cappuccino and a white chocolate muffin and sits in an armchair in the sun. While she waits, she thinks again about Cal. She's known him so long now (ten bloody years!) and they've been close over that time. But they've also drifted apart in other moments and yet, recently, Gillian thought they might have been getting closer together again (this is before the explosion and the witness protection thing. They had put the Wallowski episode behind them and he had given her space to grieve over Claire and then they had come back together). Of course, this whole situation has landed them really close together (which made them get _very_ close together). She keeps thinking about sex. She keeps thinking about how Cal's fingers felt on her, then his tongue (god he was wickedly good with his tongue), how...

And oh... ok maybe she's a little jealous that Emily's shown up just as Cal was starting to take her somewhere amazing (if she has to be honest about it).

Her coffee arrives and Gillian gets a pleasant smile from the young woman serving her. She picks the muffin apart a little bite sized piece at a time, making it last longer, while she absently looks out the window at people going by. She starts to think about what she's missing at home, the familiar people she doesn't know at all, shops where the proprietors knew she was a regular, and knowing the best thing to order off a menu. Here, the coffee is good and the muffin is great but she feels like a stranger in a town she's meant to be calling home. And maybe it also feels a bit like her one ally has just betrayed her (she's aware she's being just a little dramatic about it).

Gillian finishes her beverage, makes sure to leave a tip in the jar and heads out again. She walks across the road to the mall and goes in. She thinks she'll just have a look, but of course looking leads to buying and she ends up with new shoes (always a sure fire way to make her feel better about the shitty aspects of her life) and a watch (because if Cal can buy himself a new one, so can she). Then she thinks about the other things she had at home that she doesn't have now, like a good book to read (because she might have lingered in the coffee shop a little longer if she could just sit in the sun and read for a bit, like she would at home), so she goes to a bookstore and picks out a few novels. There are (were) a stack beside her bed back home but she can't actually remember what they (are) were (she never got around to actually starting any; too damn busy) so just gets something new. She sees three books that she thinks Cal would like but refuses to get them for him (she is _not_ happy with him right now. No matter how well he can justify it to her, or how well she can justify it to herself either, the truth is, he did this behind her back. And that just down right pisses her off. Plus, plus, it's also dangerous.)

And while she's there Gillian has lunch at a sushi place. She has no intention of going back to the house before it's been a really long time and Cal's started to worry about her (if he's even noticed that she's gone). She's glad for a nice day. After she drops her shopping off at the car she goes for a walk in the sun. She makes her way down to where the creek runs through town, walking along its bank, watching the trickle of water (there's not much of one to see). She's not particularly in the mood for exploring, just walking and thinking, so she doesn't pay attention to where she's going or how far she's walked. When the sun starts to dip lower in the sky she realises she must have walked miles. She turns and heads back the way she came, to where she left her car. Behind her, she can hear quick footsteps on the track and it makes her heart thump and her skin prickle with the paranoia. Now she realises how far she's wandered from other people; she's isolated. She quickens her pace but the steps don't falter and she's too afraid to turn around and just look (even though she tries to rationalise to herself that it's probably nothing, it's no one. No one is out to get her. But she can't be sure of that).

Her shorter legs can't win out. The man passes her without a glance, his long stride out pacing her in a second and he's gone up the path quickly. Gillian slows to an easier tempo, her legs aching, more from the tension than the race. She checks her new watch and keeps walking. She thinks about checking her phone, in case Cal has called, but knows that if he hasn't, that will hurt her more. She refrains. And she walks. She walks for over an hour and starts to feel afraid that she's missed the place where she started. She wasn't paying attention when she started off from, is not familiar with her surroundings. She plunges on, telling herself it can't be far. She starts checking her watch every five minutes, worries more, feels the tendrils of fear creeping back into her shoulders. Her footsteps echo sinisterly in the fading light as she passes under a brick bridge but on the other side is the path that leads back up to the street and she makes it back to her car, hot, sweaty, her muscles twitching and jumping, juxtaposing against the thump of her heart.

She notices a white strip of paper under the windscreen wiper on the passenger side, has to get out to get it. Her feet ache in a swollen kind of way and she regrets the excessively long walk (even though it helped distract her about Cal quite efficiently) but not the shoes. She loves these shoes. And she's already broken them in. (It's not the shoes, they could never do anything wrong). It's a parking ticket, which is a cruel gift to welcome her back to the car, seeing as it's a Saturday (but she begrudgingly figures she can consider herself part of the community now). Gillian tosses it into her handbag with a sigh, rubs the tips of her fingers over the bones of her face, the pressure grounding her, refocussing; an old trick. She's not prone to headaches (though Cal tires), she's just wary (and maybe a little physically exhausted). She feels suddenly so very alone. It's never been easy with Cal, but she might not have realised this until now: he always fights against her. He makes decisions on his own without (seemingly) taking her into consideration; he's done that the whole time they've been in business (allegedly) together. And he's still doing it now.

So she's wary. And feeling lonely. She doesn't know anyone here at all, no one within a five hundred thousand radius (that might be an exaggeration); there's no one she can go run to talk to. She feels like she's alone on the planet, a bit like how she felt in Minnesota. Not just physically alone (even though she's sitting in her car by herself) but… like she's fighting an uphill battle by herself. And her _partner_, who's supposed to work _with her_, instead of _against_ her, isn't freaking _helping_. She doesn't want to go home. But she's hungry. She kind of has to (though she could get take out and eat that in the car by herself. Or go to a restaurant. Somewhere warm. No, she doesn't have to go home right now, but she can't stay away forever. Even though she could find a hotel. If she really wanted to stick it to him, she could make herself scarce for the weekend…) Not that she feels the need to feed him, selfish bastard. She hasn't gotten to talk to Emily, hasn't seen or talked to the young woman since she left for college, and she does care, she does want to know how she's finding university (and what she's doing in Colorado). She thinks she might have made a point (to Cal at least, Emily's probably wondering what the hell is going on) with her absence today. And she really would like to go home and… change her clothes and maybe just relax. She has new books to read (ok, that part is exciting!). Gillian pulls her seatbelt on and starts the car. She puts on the radio, finds something mellow enough (easy listening) and heads back towards the house. It's practically dark now (the sun sets really quickly…) and when she steps out of the car the wind chill is enough to erupt violent goosebumps over her entire body (exacerbated by the physical activity she's cooled down from).

She gets Chinese and gets back into the car, starts heading home again. The dread grows as she gets closer because she's not sure what to say. She knows she should be glad to see Emily and she thinks the young woman will find it odd that she's not glad to see her (no, really, she _is_ glad), it's just that Gillian can't help but think about the betrayal, and more importantly, the danger. She'll have to pretend. She'll have to lie. And Cal will see through that. And she's not in the mood for him at all. The good thing about working together and not living together was that she could escape him when she needed to. When they'd had a particularly tough day, or he had driven her particularly up the wall, she could go home. Alone. He wasn't there and she could get space. And now they live together and she doesn't get that luxury, and not only that, but she didn't agree to living with him (she doesn't think. Never mind the fact that she's given her permission by proxy; her silence was her acceptance).

Gillian grabs the food and her shopping from the back of the car and heads up to the house. The lights are on but it doesn't feel welcoming. She steels herself and puts the key in the lock. She lets herself in, hears voices in the other room. They fall silently pretty quickly and Cal calls out to her. She ignores him for a moment, closing the front door, putting her shopping down. Armed with the food she goes to the living room door, a pleasant smile on her face. "Hey," she finally returns his query. Emily is expectant on the couch and even though Gillian tries not to look at Cal, she can see the concern all over him (not concern, that seems a mild descriptive word. He looks… more like, sick with worry). "Are you guys hungry?" She holds up the plastic carrier bag. "I brought food." Emily's face is pleased but Cal's is not. She can't read what he's trying to convey but it's not good. For a second, Gillian worries something else has happened but Emily's demeanour doesn't indicate more bad news (she doesn't want to flatter herself, but she hopes that Cal is worried about her).

Gillian starts to turn away to the kitchen while Emily says food sounds great and Gillian hears the clatter of Cal's crutches. "Gill?" He calls to her again but she doesn't stop, even though his tone is begging for it. In the kitchen she gets out plates and cutlery, serves herself first dibbs on the food (a selection of everything; she really wants wine. They didn't finish that bottle last night, but she refrains) and goes into the dining room as Emily and Cal start to come in. They dance around each other, all smiles and jovialness but it feels so forced for Gillian that she feels nauseated. As far as she can tell, Emily is being herself. But Cal is not. And Gillian feels a bit like she's crawling out of her skin. She half hopes they'll go eat in the other room, leave her in peace, but she knew she'd be wrong; they come to sit at the table. Emily carries Cal's plate for him, like Gillian used to and it annoys her, makes that irrational flair of jealousy heat her lungs.

When they're sitting Cal tries again but Gillian turns to the young woman with them, starts in on asking Emily how she is, how school is, how her life is, anything that keeps her talking, Gillian quiet, and Cal unable to interject, unless he wants to cause a big scene. And she knows he won't do that, not while his daughter is here and they are, at least, pretending to be civil and pleasant. Emily doesn't ask about Gillian. Not in a rude way, just, she doesn't ask like she doesn't need to know, and Gillian deduces Cal would have told her everything anyway. She wonders how much of everything that entails exactly (has he confessed to witness protection by now? And has he explained what the living arrangements are?). With so much listening, Gillian is able to eat, and eat quickly she does. She finishes her plate, excuses herself and escapes to the kitchen. She can still hear voices in the other room, low, like maybe they don't want her to hear them (paranoid much?) She sticks her head back in to say she's going to head upstairs for a bath. She asks Emily if she's staying tonight.

"No," Emily shakes her head slightly. "I'm staying with some friends in town."

"When are you heading home?" Gillian asks next, casual, she's not trying to force the woman out of town.

"Monday," Emily answers.

Gillian nods, smiles; oh cool. She'll be here the whole weekend. She glances at Cal on her way out again and there's just one word to explain the expression on his face: wounded. Well tough shit.

Gillian goes upstairs and draws a bath.

**PJ**

Honestly, there are few moments in Cal's life where he actually realises he's fucked up (no really, on occasion he does actually know). But this isn't one of them. He gets Gillian's not happy but he doesn't get why she's being such a hostile bitch about it. Taking off all day and the coming back and barely saying two words to his daughter? Going upstairs as soon as she can get out of there? That's not like her at all. He understands, on some level, that he has a bit of explaining to do (though he's having a hard time even consciously admitting what he's done), sure, but, come on. Surely Gillian _appreciates_ why Emily is here. He would _not_ begrudge her the same thing if their situations were reversed. How could he? So how could she?

"So," Emily speaks up, absently forking her dinner while staring at her father. Cal, distracted by Gillian's impolite exit, takes a second to respond. "How much trouble are you in?"

Cal swallows the urge to choke on his food and instead gives her a flat stare.

"Oh come on. I'm not going to tell anyone," Emily scoffs, her hand going still. "You don't have to tell me all the details but something serious is going on."

Cal gives a final chew and swallows. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he's already broken major rules, and oh, when has he ever given much of a damn for protocol? He puts his fork down, sighs a little (maybe for dramatic effect, maybe because Gillian's pissed him off). "Let's just say, a person of a certain agency's personal assistant was witnessed cooking meth and then that person's boss came to pick him up from the address of the lab. Which makes it all very suspicious," he points his fork at his daughter, who is a rapt audience. "And then other things came to light that makes it all very… it's no longer suspicious. It's concrete."

"Some, what? Some FBI guy was cooking meth?" Emily asks and Cal cringes a little that she had to pick that agency (when she could have guessed CIA or ATF) because now if he says 'yes' to her question he's accidentally given away too much information. He shouldn't be talking about this at all (but how's he going to get himself out of it now?) Gillian will kill him.

"Yes," Cal says. "Something like that," he adds. "More of the something."

Emily smiles, pleased (or smug) and goes back to her dinner. "Let me guess?" She goes on. "You were at the meth lab?"

But she already knows this bit of the story now. She already knows about the explosion, because Cal had to explain to her how he broke his arm and leg. So now she basically knows all of it except for names. And Cal has to admit, it feels kind of nice to be able to talk to someone about it who isn't Gillian (and not just because he's mad at her right now. Or, she's mad at him). It feels nice to just be able to be his regular self. There's no need for pretending with Em.

Mostly she talks about herself. It's good though, because it distracts Cal from his own misery. She tells him about school (her schedule, classes, classmates, lecturers) and her dorm-mates and her life. Once going, she doesn't stop much (apparently there's a lot to say). That's good for Cal. Especially after dinner. Once they stop having a non-conversation about him and Gillian (and thank god she doesn't ask about Gillian's attitude) they go back to talking about her life. And philosophy and sate law versus federal law. They talk until well after midnight. Cal's anxiety over Gillian wanes. The house is quiet and after a while, talking to his daughter, he manages to forget about her. When she snuck out, he didn't notice because he was distracted by Emily and then he was paranoid about her return, kept trying to keep an ear out for her return, that desperate anxious need to set things right with her. But since she went upstairs, well stuff it. He can't be bothered dealing with any moodiness (he doesn't know why it has to be so hard). He asks Emily if she's going to stay over.

"No I shouldn't."

"The couch is very comfortable," Cal tries (he should know, he's napped on it plenty enough). He shifts on the cushion as if to emphasise his point (actually, his ass is getting numb). "It's late. Did you drive?"

"I got a cab from the motel. My friends are expecting me back tonight."

Cal hesitates. "What did you tell them exactly about coming here?"

"Relax, I told them I was visiting family. Distant family," she adds, as if that explains it all.

Cal figures that has to be good enough (but he might make it clear tomorrow that she really cannot let anyone know that they're there… and oh, this is… he needs to talk to Emily about this whole thing a bit more tomorrow too. But not now, it's late). "Won't they wonder where you are then?"

"They're on a skiing holiday," Emily scoffs as she gets to her feet and pulls her cell from her pocket. "They'll still be up drinking."

Cal pouts. "Not sure I wanted to know that."

Emily rolls her eyes at him while she talks to an operator and orders a taxi. She waits for Cal to get to his feet (tells him that it's weird to see him moving so awkwardly) and they go to stand by the door, keeping an eye out. Cal feels a dryness in his mouth that he can't explain (in the back of his mind he knows he's done wrong in telling Emily where they are, but he's still denying it. And he will, until Gillian makes him see); thinks maybe he's just been so glad to see his daughter it's hard to let her go again.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah maybe in the afternoon?" Emily says casually as she puts her jacket on. "I'm going to spend some time with my friends. I've already told them I'm not much of a skier so…"

Cal reaches out to untuck a fold of her collar and while her head is turned away he feels a strange sense of pride that she's laying down the foundation of her lies in advance. She said to him once that he didn't pick up on every lie she told, and for the first time, he actually wonders if that's true. If anyone is his true blind spot, it would be his daughter. Especially now that she's older (and knows all his tricks).

The taxi pulls into the drive. Emily's already reaching for the door handle but it toots anyway (Cal cringes a little, hopes that hasn't woken Gillian. Because she has _got_ to be asleep by now. She goes to bed so early). Emily pulls the door open, letting in a cool wash of air and leans out to wave to the cabbie. Then she turns back to him and gives him a tight hug (he nearly loses his balance, puts his foot down on the ground. First time since he got his casts change. Since he was told off. It only hurts a little, but it still hurts. After all this time).

"Gosh," Cal jokes. "It's like you haven't seen me in months."

Emily pulls back, brushes a strand of loose hair from her eyes. "If only." She says. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Cal agrees and Emily leaves. He waits until she's in the car before he closes the front door, covered in goosebumps. He figures there'll be snow for her friends to slide around on. He stands and waits for the cab to pull away from the house, feeling like this is almost normal, like they're back in DC and she's gone off back to her mother's or something. And that feels strange. It's a swirling mix of familiar and foreign.

Cal puts out the outside lights and goes around putting out lights downstairs too. He goes into the passage and stops. He feels warm again now that he's moved around but as he looks up the stairs to the dark landing he can't help the flush of his face. He can't figure it out though, how he feels. Angry maybe but also something else. Tense. Like something is about to happen. A sense of foreboding and regret (and guilt. But he won't admit that). Gillian said she went to have a bath, so she probably went to bed up there too. Cal debates following her. People say 'don't go to sleep angry' but really, the experts say that it's ok to. That it is healthy to actually have some space. If he died in his sleep Cal wouldn't hold a grudge against Gillian. Not for this anyway. This is small potatoes compared to death. But thinking like that makes him feel morbid and there's a nagging thought in the back of his head that's trying to make itself heard and he refuses. He doesn't want to hear it. And he doesn't want to hear it from Gillian tonight either. Going upstairs to sleep with her will probably wake her and he doesn't want to talk to her right now, doesn't want to fight, not now when it's so late and he's tired, so he goes to his room. He shuffles in, sees a figure in the bed straight away and stops, his heart rate increasing a little.

Gillian didn't go to sleep upstairs.

She had a bath and came back down to sleep with him in his bed.

Cal watches her for a moment, mostly because he's so surprised, but also, she fell asleep with the light on, a book slumped over her hand, and she looks peaceful, beautiful, and it makes his heart ache. Aches really badly. He loves her and she didn't go upstairs to sleep.

Cal wonders if he's meant to wake her, so they can talk. But he is a cowardly lion sometimes so he leans one crutch against his dresser and uses the other to manoeuvre across the room. He leans carefully and takes her book. Luckily for him, it's not tangled in her fingers (though he totally loses her place). He puts it on the bedside table, moving slowly and softly. He takes his clothes off, pops out the lamp. He makes his way around the bed in the dark, stepping on his foot (still notices it doesn't really hurt that badly. Hardly at all actually) and coming to his side of the bed. He sits and places his other crutch against the side table. He swings his good leg to the bed, dragging up his bad leg behind it, his abdominals holding the balance of his body weight while he turns and then lies down. He's on top of the blanket (fucking didn't think of that before he sat down) and won't be able to wiggle under it without either getting up again or jerking the bed around so badly Gillian would have to be medicated to sleep through it. He relaxes. Figures he can get up later if he is freezing to death. Just can't be bothered (is too afraid) to move again. He stares at the opposite wall for a long time, and doesn't notice when he finally closes his eyes and falls asleep. It's much quicker than it feels. And what he doesn't realise is that Gillian is lying next to him, awake, holding her breath, afraid and not sure what to say.


	17. Chapter 17

So Sunday is meant to be the day of rest but Gillian feels anything but. She sleeps tensely, (her muscles taught and aching) and lightly, waking at every odd sound or because she gets too hot, then too cold and there are awkward patches of air getting in against her skin because Cal's lying on top of the covers (though who even knows why?) Her mind does not slow down for hours and sometimes, when she wakes in the night, she's aware of her heart in her chest and the tightness of her lungs. It's like having a panic attack in her sleep and it makes her restless and uneasy. It has got to be one of the most crappiest nights of sleep she's ever had (or hasn't had, because she barely slept) and when she wakes in the morning and finally gives in to the fact that she's just not going to settle properly (and gets up for the bathroom), she feels awful. Over tired. And tearful. And maybe a little sick too.

It seems Cal's slept easily enough (good on him), because he doesn't move in the night and he doesn't stir when she gets up. She even goes to get him a blanket, because he must be seriously freezing over there, and she doesn't seem to disturb him then either (she's too nice). She goes to make herself coffee, like she normally does, and finds last night's dishes still in the sink. She puts them in the dishwasher, annoyed Cal didn't do them the previous evening (like he usually does), while also rationalising to herself that he had a guest and so would have been preoccupied (and she doesn't expect Emily to have done them).

Gillian drinks her coffee at the dining room table, feet tucked up on the seat so that she can rest her chin on her knees. She thinks. And she thinks a lot. About what she's going to do next. Obviously, it would be too much to do anything while Emily is here (but she knows where she would bury Cal's body, after she kills him) but she knows how she's going to handle things once the young woman goes back to California (which Gillian assumes will happen today sometime). The first thing Gillian is going to do is call the marshals. She knows Cal will feel betrayed or something along those lines, that she went behind is back (again) probably, but he can get stuffed, because this is _her_ safety that she's thinking about. And as selfish as it may seem, she needs to put herself first in this instance (especially if he's not going to). She figures they'll be moved, or at least she will, because if Cal doesn't want to go with her, well then that's his choice (she doesn't want to think it, but maybe they'd be better off apart).

Worst case scenario (aside from being murdered by Jerome Willis): the marshals will wash their hands of them (which could lead to being murdered by Jerome Willis). They'll be alone and vulnerable. The agreement was that the marshals would provide them with protection, so long as they testified. And Cal has kind of spit in the face of their protection. It meant keeping quiet and not telling anyone where they were. With all the investigation that must be going on, they must have gathered enough evidence to gain a conviction without Cal and Gillian's testimony. There's a chance they might not even be needed. If their protection gets rescinded, Gillian doesn't know what she will do. Maybe going back to DC would be her best option? She has friends there, she could hide in plain sight (but accidents do happen. It makes her feel sick). She could…

"Morning," Cal grumps from the doorway, on his way to the kitchen.

Gillian's heart races; she didn't hear him approaching (and she's feeling paranoid). She unfolds her legs, finds them stiff with sitting too long, and hobbles into the kitchen after him.

"Thanks for making me coffee," Cal mutters at her as soon as she's in the room.

She was going to put her mug in the dishwasher, but she puts it down on the breakfast bar instead, surprised. "I never make you coffee," she points out, as if it is obviously no big deal.

"I know," Cal turns to face her. "I drink coffee too." His eyes are intense on hers and she can feel the air electrify.

Gillian, still stunned, takes a second to respond stiltedly, "But I'm not sure when you get up."

"Accusing me of being lazy?" Cal mumbles, looking away; the challenge dying.

Gillian lets her eyebrows drag into a frown. "I was implying I didn't want to make you coffee if it was just going to go cold," she answers. This is weird.

Cal folds his arms across his chest and Gillian has a sudden pang to be held by them. But she knows that's wrong because what this is, what she realises now, is that this is the beginning of a fight. Cal has picked many fights with her over the years, but never like this. Never quite so as antagonistic as this is. And it's unnerving. But she doesn't want to fight so she turns to leave.

"Walking out then?" Cal needles.

Gillian feels her shoulders tighten up towards her ears but keeps walking. _Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed_, she tries to reason with herself. She'll give him five minutes to have coffee and wake up.

"Oi! I'm talking to you!" He calls after her, his tone suddenly reasonable. Gillian keeps going. She goes down the hall to their bedroom even though it would be so much easier to hide upstairs (she knows it's not fair), but she's not actually trying to run out on an argument with him (she feels pretty justified that she'll win it), she just needs a minute to gather herself before they get going. She needs to gather her strength.

Sure enough, Cal follows her down, slinging into the room in a foul aura of anger (guess her walking out annoyed him quite a bit then). Gillian started making the bed, has the blanket she got for him earlier that morning in her hands, refolding it, and she sees the exact moment he remembers that she did that for him on his face, a flash of guilt and a lessening of the anger. "Let's have it then," he says to her, but his tone is more even and when he meets her eye there's less antagonism in there than there was in the kitchen.

She thinks about playing dumb, dragging it out, not giving into whatever this is that he's creating, but she's not manipulative (it will only serve to aggravate him further, which would be the point of it). She straightens up and looks him right in the eye and says, "You obviously told Emily where we are."

Cal's chin goes up in defiance (not an easy feat when he's leaning forward on crutches). "Yes," he says simply. The 'so what?' bit is entirely implied.

"Even though you know it's dangerous for us?" She tries to keep her tone even, she really does try, but it does hint at panic.

"Oh come on Gillian," Cal scoffs. "If they were going to launch an attack against us they probably would have done it by now."

"So not the point," she responds evenly, getting a grip on herself (refusing to believe that that could possibly be true).

"What _is_ the point? I put your life at risk?" He's antagonistic; a narrowing of his eyes and a sneer on his lips.

Gillian feels that frustrated nauseous feeling again. Why is it he's not seeing the problem with this? (Surely he's not _that_ callous). "Yes," she shoots back. "You did. And you don't even care that you've done it!"

Cal half rolls his eyes. "Or are you just annoyed we didn't get to finish yesterday morning," he goes on, speaking over the last of her words.

Gillian throws the blanket at him. It falls well short but she imagines it hitting him square in the face (and maybe knocking him off balance). She wants to go over and kick the crutches out from beneath him, and it suddenly occurs to her that he's standing in front of the doorway, blocking any escape she might have wanted to make. Bastard.

"This isn't about that and you know it," she jabs a finger at him, her anger ratcheting up quickly. "We weren't supposed to tell anyone where we are…"

"Yeah, yeah," Cal cuts in again. "It's Em. She's not going to post it on Facebook."

"Not the point!" Gillian raises her voice to speak over him as well. Cal doesn't talk over her to annoy her, he just does it because he's rude. It's still irritating though.

"You're being completely unreasonable," Cal tells her, suddenly more relaxed now that she's the one getting agitated (it makes him look good when she's losing it).

"Unreasonable?" Gillian's eyes widen in surprise. "Are you kidding me Cal? Jerome Willis has all the means necessary to have us _killed_."

"We don't even know that. He hasn't made a threat against us."

"He's made hundreds of threats against everyone else who's crossed him," Gillian exasperatedly gestures. "We _know_ he's had people killed."

Cal gives that annoying half roll of his eyes again; dismissal and it makes Gillian feel disgusting inside; worthless. She comes around the bed and stops a few feet away from him. Her left hand is bunched in a fist at her side but neither of them notice. She sees Cal shift the balance of his weight, ready for physicality of some sort (she did try to throw a blanket at him. It might not be beyond her to shove him). "I can't believe you're being so…" The correct adjective escapes her and Cal smirks. "About this," she finishes anyway.

"So what?" Cal challenges. "Having a level-headed reaction to this?"

Gillian wants to punch him. "For God's sake Cal." (She wanted to swear at him.) "Can you at least think about what you've done to Emily?"

"I haven't done anything to Emily," Cal quickly points out, his tone hard and his eyes narrowing slightly again.

"You've put her in danger too." She sees him blanch, hears the retort before he can voice it: _I haven't done anything of the sort._

"You told her where we are. If Willis really wants to get to us, he can now go through her! What if he's had her followed?"

Just for a second, it looks like the colour has washed out of Cal's face. Surely, _surely_, he would have realised that before now. Surely, _surely_, it does not take her pointing out to him to make him see it. "You put her in danger by giving her that knowledge Cal. And you put me in danger by letting someone else know where we are," Gillian starts off reasonably. "You obviously don't care about your own life, but this isn't just about you!"

"He wouldn't," Cal starts.

"College kids go missing all the time. _People_ go missing all the time," Gillian tells him. "They just disappear. You _know _that!" He looks scared.

"You're being paranoid," Cal utters.

"Fine," Gillian huffs. She goes to walk around him but he doesn't move out of the way. They scuffle a little on the threshold. Gillian refrains from pushing him (which she might have done if he didn't have a broken leg) but does try to barge past. Cal holds his ground as much as possible, until he's threatened with losing his balance, and then hops a foot away. Gillian escapes to the hallway and Cal follows her anyway.

"What are you going to do then?" He talks to her back.

Gillian stops in the hallway next to the stairs and faces him. "I'm going to call the marshals."

"Right now? Not sure they keep weekend office hours."

"God can you just stop?" Gillian blurts.

"Stop what?" Cal asks, just on the edge of innocence. He knows he's winding her up and that annoys her even more. She's on the verge of screaming at him, to wake the hell up and realise that this is serious, but she thinks that would just give him more satisfaction. Since he broke his leg, he's turned into a bigger asshole (or maybe it's the witness protection thing, but Gillian's not in the mood for being reasonable).

"I'm going to call the marshals and if they want to move me then they can. I agreed to testify and I didn't break protocol," Gillian's aware of her voice raising in volume anyway, despite her efforts to keep it under control. But she's cut off by a knock at the door. Her heart pounds sickeningly in her throat and she turns to the door, just a few meters away, as if she's scared of it. Cal goes quiet behind her, and still, an eeriness settles between them. No one knocks on their door. Unless it's the neighbours (that one time). Or the marshals.

"It's Em," Cal says quietly.

And now she can include Emily on that list.

Gillian looks back at him. He's lost his arrogance from before (he does love a good fight), might even look a little defeated. Gillian wonders what he was hoping to achieve from arguing with her. He hasn't convinced her of his case (and she might not have convinced him of hers either), but he doesn't look contrite. "Get dressed," she tells him flatly (because he's in underwear and a t-shirt; not a good look at all) and goes for the door (because she sleeps in pyjamas).

She gives Emily a welcoming smile and steps back to let the young woman in. "Good morning," she greets.

"I didn't get you out of bed did I?" Emily asks, appraising her attire not-so-subtly.

"No, of course not," Gillian says (suddenly self-conscious of the fact that she's not wearing a bra), but it must be mid-morning by now (it's a sunny day out there). "We were just having… a lazy morning. Your Dad's getting dressed." Gillian offers Emily a hot drink (she declines) and they go to sit in the living room (Emily on the couch, Gillian in the armchair).

For a second, Gillian's panicked: what is she going to talk about? She's gotten so used to not talking about anything important with someone who isn't Cal (and let's face it, they don't really talk about anything important either). But Emily jumps in straight, "So what's it like going back to high school?"

Gillian smiles. "Well I'd like to say it's like I never left… but that's not true at all."

Emily grins back. "I was so glad to leave high school. College is so much better. Hey," Emily gets serious. "Can I ask you something? Before Dad comes in?" She lowers her volume so she's practically whispering.

"Sure," Gillian says softly.

"Is he really ok? It's just a broken arm and leg? There's not something else?"

"No," Gillian shakes her head but it feels like a lie. Of course there's something else. There's always something else. But injury wise, as far as she can tell, that's it for Cal. Just the broken bones. (And it means something significant that Emily asked. Does it mean she doesn't trust her father either?)

"Talking about me?" Cal asks as he swings into the room.

"Paranoid?" Emily asks him.

Cal smirks but doesn't take a seat. "You had breakfast yet?" He asks his daughter.

"Actually no," Emily answers.

Cal looks over at Gillian and she feels suddenly warm (she hates the part where they all pretend afterwards that nothing has happened. It feels so false and undignified). "Gill?" His tone is cautious.

"Sure," she agrees with a tight smile.

"Gonna need a helper though," Cal speaks to his daughter again. She gets up from the couch and waits for him to leave the room first and Gillian is alone again. She waits a beat, can hear their voices in the kitchen, and gets up herself. She goes upstairs to get dressed but ends up sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the carpet. She feels tired; there's something about Cal that exhausts her. She doesn't think she can keep doing this. She resolves to call the marshals as soon as Emily leaves (even though maybe Emily should be here for this, now that she's involved). Part of her thinks she just might be better off without Cal.

Cal and Emily make breakfast, eggs and toast and baked beans (of course he has some in the cupboard). They make sweet tea with honey, like they used to on lazy Sundays and it reminds him of being home when things were normal and familiar and not so hard. He has to admit, Gillian's being incredibly pleasant given the situation (the witness protection thing he violated, and also that he tried to pick a fight with her about an hour ago), and it makes him feel two things: the first is a kind of warmth in his chest that makes him want to reach out to touch her arm or hold her hand, some form of affection (he's not sure if that's a reward for him or her). And the other is shame: he can be a real idiot.

The fight thing, he knows that's a defence mechanism of his. Attack before he can be attacked, and all that (particularly because he's small). And it's not the first time he's done that to Gillian (and it's not the first time she's been right in an argument and tried to shut it down before it escalated into saying stupid things merely to hurt the other) but this is the first time he actually feels quite awful about it. Yeah he kind of knew it wasn't a good idea to be emailing people with their address. But he supposes he didn't quite think about how it would affect Gillian. She was right though. He _has_ put his daughter (and them) at risk because everything he's read about the _real_ Jerome Willis is that the man is a complete thug and worse, he's been so very good at covering it all up (until now). The guy shows psychopathic markers. So yeah, Gillian was right and Cal is sorry and he loves his daughter, he does, but he half wishes she wasn't there right now, so he can talk to Gillian. He loves her too. He owes her two big apologies (and oh, then there's the Group emails he's yet to confess to) and he feels the need to take her aside and do it right now. (But the thought also makes him feel sick, because he's a coward. And he can't admit when he was wrong).

Gillian comes down for breakfast (and she's so painfully sexy in such an easy way, in casual jeans and a raglan shirt that Cal feels aghast with thinking about her in that way when he basically poked her with a stick for no other reason than to ease the feelings he has difficulty dealing with) and plays nice. She and Emily talk about silly things, gossip and TV, things Cal doesn't keep up with, can't fathom really, and he's distracted. They sit around and watch a movie, he and Em on the couch, Gillian in the armchair. She's not trying to be distant on purpose (this is no disappearing act like yesterday) but he misses her. She's right there and he misses her. He's trying to deny the fact that he might have pushed the boundaries too far this time. She always forgives him (and she will again). He'll make it ok once more (he always does). But something feels different and he wonders if she feels it too (does Emily even notice the tension, because she doesn't act like it)?

The other thing about Emily being there? Cal can't spend all his time on the tablet, waiting for Ria to mail him back. For a while, he forgets all about it. And then guiltily he realises, that despite the big fight with Gillian that morning, and the sinking feeling of having to confess to the marshals what he's done (and confess to Gillian about emailing Ria in the first place), Cal really wants to know what the other woman has to say. There's a really good chance he and Gillian are going to end up even further removed from everything. It's his last link to his real life. Which gets him thinking about going home again; gets him feeling that maybe he's not so sorry after all. He was going to call the marshals on Monday anyway, to talk about work (or more accurately, to demand what was happening with the investigation and if there was something he could do to move it along etc).

with the investigation and if there was something he could do to move it along etc).

Emily stays for dinner. Gillian cooks. Cal thinks that might have been his chance to get her alone, but it's hard to do that when he's on crutches. Every time he even moves Emily's looking over at him and asking if he's ok, and is there anything she can get him? At first, it's endearing, then it becomes annoying, and the fact that he won't see her again for a long time is what stops him from snapping at her. He doesn't do well with cabin fever. Even with other people around (though he seems to be less grumpy when it's just Gillian. Always Gillian. She's already figured out how far to push him and when to back off. Which just makes him feel more melancholy. He feels like he's pretending all the time now).

After they eat and Emily says she has to go, Cal almost feels relieved. Which is an awful way to feel about his kid, but he's starting to give up on being sure of how he feels about anything anymore. He hugs his daughter goodbye by the door. She says she'll call in first thing tomorrow before her flight for a final farewell. They could have breakfast together again. He likes that idea, tells her he'll see her then (and that he loves her). When he closes the door, he realises Gillian has gone. He looks up the stairs but can't see any lights on, and she's not in the living room. He tries the bedroom and he's right, she's there. Suddenly alone, he feels daunted and unsure.

"I'm going to go to bed now," Gillian speaks and Cal realises he's reached the doorway and stopped, lost in thought. Gillian's in her pyjamas; Cal notices a book in her hands as she stands by the bed. She's not quite meeting his eye and he doesn't like that (but at least she hasn't gone to hide upstairs). "Early start for me tomorrow too."

"Right," Cal says insipidly. He does a shuffle-hop to turn on the spot and goes to brush his teeth. He has to go back down the hallway to put out all the lights in the rest of the house, but he's gotten the hang of the crutches now and so even though it takes effort, gets his heart rate up, it doesn't seem so dramatic. Back in the bedroom, Gillian is leaning against the head of the bed, a pillow in her back and the book resting against her propped up knees. Her eyes flicker up as Cal comes back in but she doesn't speak and neither does he. He strips down and makes his way into bed, remembering this time to peel back the covers first (he notices Gillian helps a little when she thinks he's not looking). When he finally settles Gillian says she'll finish the page but he tells her no rush. It's all so very polite and careful. It's not entirely comfortable, but they've had worse silences. Cal wishes he thought to bring the tablet. He has to simply lie there and wait. And stew.

A minute later Gillian puts out the light. She puts down her book first and settles, leaning over for the switch. Cal gets a perfect view of the small of her back and fights a sudden impulse to touch her. He feels like he's living in two worlds. A world where touching her is possible is weighed down by the casts on his body. The world where he doesn't hurt her is shattered by his fallibilities. He can't seem to help himself. He keeps fighting against this new, this possibility of what he could have, as if he doesn't quite believe it's there, like he can disregard it because it's just a mirage. He tries to blend the two worlds together, but could quite possibly end up with the worst of both (it would not be the first time he's stitched up a relationship, but maybe for the first time it feels like something he wouldn't get over).

When Gillian goes still in the darkness Cal's heart starts to beat faster, that tension of knowing he has something to say to her, something important, but he's also scared chicken shit. They're silent for a good few minutes, which feel like hours. _I'm sorry_ goes around and around Cal's mind. He tells himself to just blurt it out but ultimately, he can't do it.

"I'll call the marshals tomorrow."

Gillian is silent from the other side of the bed, but Cal can feel the shift in energy between them. "You will?" She asks but her tone is flat. Not disbelieving, not astonished. More emphasis on _you_. Like maybe she's just checking he's for real.

"I will," he repeats.

"I can do it," she offers quietly.

"I'll do it," Cal repeats. And now that they're talking it seems much easier. "You were right. About Em. I shouldn't have done that."

Gillian rustles next to him.

"I'll talk to her before she leaves tomorrow. Tell her to be careful. And…" He doesn't know what lese.

Gillian still doesn't say anything.

"Is that it?" Cal challenges, because he can't handle the silence. Was never good at the silent treatment. Used to drive him nuts (when Zoe did it).

"Is that it what?" Gillian asks.

"Am I meant to say something else?"

"I don't know Cal," Gillian says but not in that 'if you don't know I'm not about to tell you way'. She says it like she means it. Cal's not sure if he should be frustrated with her or not. "Do what you think is best."

"Don't say that," Cal snips. "I'm trying to make it right here."

"For me or for you?"

Cal's surprised, so he misses his opportunity to speak again (he thought she would be all grateful that he was giving in to her). Gillian goes on: "Look Cal, I don't care. Do what you want."

Cal frowns to himself in the darkness. "I'm sorry?"

"Was that an apology?"

Wow. Snide Gillian. He's not sure he's had to cope with snide Gillian before.

"No," he tells her. "I'm not sorry." Which is kind of true (but also not true). But he says it purely to be defiant. And all those thoughts about pushing her too far away evaporate in light of antagonism.

"Way to make it right," Gillian says quietly.

"That's not what I meant," Cal sighs.

"That is exactly what you meant."

"I already said you were right."

"Cal," she starts but he cuts her off.

"I'm sorry Gill," he repeats, and he says it loudly and with meaning, so she can hear him (because she doesn't seem to be able to hear him). "I'll put it right tomorrow." He sounds contrite, even to himself and he just wants it to be enough. He doesn't want to fight with her, he doesn't want her to rub it in, but he also doesn't want her to give up on him. He wants the apology to be enough (because god knows he hasn't said it abundantly; he can't even remember the last time). He doesn't want her to give up on him. He wants her to see that he's _trying _and to cut him some slack. Like she usually does.

Gillian is quiet a moment longer. And then, "Let me know when you've called them."

"All right."

"Cal?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we going to do this all over again?"

He wants to say 'yes probably', but he knows that's not what she wants to hear. And he knows that isn't what he should do. "No," he says and he means it but it makes his chest feel funny, like grief has settled in it and he might finally be accepting that his life will never be the same again.

"I promise you, it won't mean never seeing Emily again. We'll find a better way to make that happen."

Cal turns his head towards her in the dark, and somehow she's ended up lying close to him. She reaches out her hand to his chest, rubs a spot over his heart, and he wants to feel comforted but it feels patronising. It feels like she wins and he loses. And he knows that will kill them eventually.


	18. Chapter 18

Gillian wakes to her alarm. She switches it off and rolls out of bed. It's easier to just get moving when she has these early starts (if she tries to lie in bed for a bit of a snuggle in the warmth, she's just going to fall straight back to sleep. And there is no back up alarm). She slept surprisingly well after talking with Cal last night (but it's still always so hard to wake up this early). She scuffs upstairs and has a shower, does her hair and makeup and dresses, facing the day. She goes to the kitchen, makes coffee, has breakfast, packs lunch, goes through her routine. Like usual, there's no sign of Cal but that doesn't worry Gillian anymore. She doesn't think about the confession to the marshals until she gets to work and so she doesn't think about their argument(s) yesterday, or even Emily; she's pretty much on autopilot (she might be still half asleep, even with coffee). She's at the door putting on her coat when there's a knock on it. She freezes for a second, then her heart races with the fright, and then she frets. Who is it? Who is knocking on the door so early? And where's her phone? (In case she needs to make an emergency call).

She hesitates too long (fumbles in her pocket for her phone) and there's another knock (more insistent this time). Gillian can't decide what to do. She thinks about going to wake Cal and after that thought she realises she's being silly and acting out of character (she's actually usually quite a confident, secure kind of person) and if it were danger knocking on the door, well, they probably wouldn't knock and be so polite about it. She opens the door (a little silver at first just to check who it is) and finds Emily standing there. "Good morning," she greets, opening the door wide.

Emily smiles broadly, her eyes bright (despite the early hour). "Morning." Gillian lets her in and closes the door behind her. Emily is looking into the living room while she pulls at the scarf around her neck.

"I'll go get your Dad. There's coffee in the kitchen if you want some."

"Thanks."

"Help yourself," Gillian suggests as she goes down the hall. The bedroom is dark, just how she left it, and it seems Cal hasn't stirred (pretty typically). She leans down and shakes his shoulder to wake him and he startles, confused. "Emily's here," she tells him gently (he's nice when he's asleep and she has a strong urge to crawl into bed next to him and cuddle up).

"Huh?"

"Emily's here," Gillian repeats a little louder. "To say goodbye."

Cal groans something that has syllables but not proper words. "Come on," Gillian encourages, already heading for the door, and then leaves him again. Cal lies in bed for a moment, his eyes feeling scratchy and swollen as he picks the sleep from them. He can't remember the last time he was awake this early (he's not sure he is awake), and it's hard (he wonders how many hours sleep he's had; can't be that many). He gets out of bed and pulls on some clothes (not quickly, because he can't manage that), and heads out of the bedroom, stopping to itch the stubble on his chin. He swings into the kitchen and finds Emily there, leaning against the bench with her back to the door, a coffee cupped in her hands. Gillian's at the sink, rinsing out her own mug. She gives him a slight smile (that familiar intimate kind of smile that makes him feel like he's the only man left in the world. And how is it that she can do that when they had such a shitty day yesterday?) and breezes out of the room (how is it she looks so amazing when the sun isn't even up yet?). He suddenly remembers what he was dreaming about before she woke him: warm, yellow sunlight illuminating the kitchen like it's the middle of summer. It should be hot, but it barely creates enough heat when it touches his skin. The wooden floor is cold beneath his foot (apparently his leg is still broken in this dream). His daughter is talking to him, but he is distracted. The light in the room makes it feel so very surreal (a suspicion that he is, in fact, dreaming) and he isn't sure what he is doing there, standing at the sink. He thinks Colorado might be nice in the summer (if he were here in another life).

"Good morning Dad," Emily greets him and he responds with a mumble (caught out of the reverie). She laughs and offers to make him coffee, which he readily accepts. He hops his way to the breakfast bar and leans on it, his head feeling fuzzy; he's not awake yet. He turns, as if on instinct, and Gillian's there, coat on, wrapping a scarf around her throat. His daughter lights over to him, a farewell hug of his good arm; but she's not saying goodbye, just leaving the room (he feels so sleepy). He gives his attention to his closest friend, can't keep his eyes off her; it still feels like he's dreaming (he wishes these quiet moments would last longer, would come back to him when he feels the need to drag her down, remind him that he loves her, that he can be better for her). She gives him a slight smile. But she stops him from going to her (and he thinks her smiles don't match with how that feels) and moves towards him instead, placing sure fingers against his head, on either side, palms pressing against his ears. She kisses him. A press of her lips against his. Like she has done it a hundred times before, when really, this is the first time (the first time he's got a goodbye kiss before she goes to work). It surprises him and it makes him stare. Her eyes are so blue, and so tranquil (and he really is having a hard time reconciling yesterday with this behaviour). She kisses him again; definitely a farewell, and she doesn't care who sees (Emily could walk in at any moment). She tells him she'll see him later, and goes to the front door. He can't go after her; grounded by her kiss (and he's got a bloody broken leg). She goes without him saying anything. He can't think of anything to say anyway. She kissed him. Twice. Maybe she's not so mad at him.

Cal shakes himself out of it (equally loves and hates that she has that kind of effect on him). He can hear the two women conversing in the hall, saying goodbye. It could be goodbye for a while and it makes Cal feel sad. Everything is so messed up. He wishes so hard for normal, but can't seem to make it happen. He can't seem to help himself from acting so very badly sometimes (most of the time).

"Dad?"

"Hm?" He realises Emily is talking to him.

"Breakfast?" She prompts. "I have to leave in an hour."

"Right, yeah," he agrees. So they cook and Cal warms up (wakes up) and then they're sitting at the dining room table with a hot, hearty meal (although Cal's not sure his stomach is awake for this either).

"So," Emily speaks up, absently forking her eggs while staring at her father from across the table (she doesn't sit in Gillian's spot). Cal, distracted with thinking they should have had breakfast with Gillian (and that it was actually quite nice to see her before she went to work; felt kind of domestic), takes a second to acknowledge his child is talking to him. "How long you guys been sleeping together?"

Cal just about chokes on his toast. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on," Emily scoffs, her hand going still, but her gaze remaining intense. "Don't even try to deny it."

He doesn't know why, but there's a part of him that just wants to flat out refute it. But instead he's a deer caught in the headlights; he says nothing. But the fact that he's let the silence go on too long now (as opposed to denying it too quickly) is basically an admission. Emily certainly takes it that way.

"When did this happen? Before… this?" She raises her eyebrows, suggesting the house (or the city).

And then another part of Cal isn't sure if he should be talking about it, like it's a secret or something and he should be discrete (not the first time he's had to be discrete). Like maybe he should ask Gillian what she would want to tell people (if she even _wants_ to admit to 'them') and not just assume (under different circumstances, he'd be gloating his ass off). And then he feels stupid and slightly embarrassed because of this weekend and his behaviour yesterday, and also, they've already had this conversation. Him and Emily. Sort of. Except, the awkward bit here is that Emily is from their old life, which means she knows all about… how things were before. Plus, she's his _daughter_. (Also, he admitted to her that he loves Gillian. That he proper loves her. And she asked him what he was waiting for. So how does he explain…?)

"What happened? Dad? What happened?"

It's hard to tell if she's eager (like gleeful) or serious (like this is life altering).

"It just kind of started," he starts talking. And then it gets even more awkward. He has to explain, without admitting to too much, that actually, even though he kissed Gillian first, he's not sure who escalated it to the actual sex part and that it was generally not amazing even though it really was amazing. So he tells her they had obviously spending time alone together and getting closer (all true) and that he kissed Gillian one night (also true), because it felt right (sorry about the rhyming). And it went from there. (He doesn't mention either, that they were sleeping together at the time it started. Sleeping in the same bed, that is. Because that would take even more explanation and really, that part feels like a betrayal if he were to voice it. Gillian was really vulnerable then.)

Emily has the good grace to not squeal in delight and clap her hands and twirl around the room happy for him (he might have to leave the house himself). She smiles and she means it (all the delight is in her eyes. He knows she's wanted it for a long time. She actually might be more excited about it than Gillian has been. Which makes Cal feel not great all over again and he keeps thinking about how this hasn't worked out at all how he wanted it to). And she's mature enough to not ask for details (Cal is _not_ giving them; never mind that they're not details to be proud of). She tells him its great and the thing is, if Gillian hadn't reacted the way she had this weekend, and if they hadn't just had the oddest… what? Three weeks? Living under the same roof. (And if they weren't stuck in Colorado and living with false identities and all that kind of weird stuff.) Well, it might have been something great.

She's ruining it for him. (Or he's ruining it for them.) Either way, that sinking feeling that he's blown it keeps nagging him.

In passing, Emily says 'why didn't you tell me sooner?' And Cal brushes it off as no big deal or something about seeing how things go, or he's not quite sure what to make of it yet; lets her mostly deduce herself (and tries for self-depreciation). She's good at that. She infers a lot; fills in the blanks. He doesn't have to explain much about anything. He doesn't know what she fathoms, but it's apparently good enough (she stops questioning him; at least it wasn't an interrogation). They switch to talking about other things. Menial, irrelevant things, while they finish their food and stack the dirty dishes. Emily reluctantly checks her watch and an awkwardness passes through them. Cal's mouth feels dry. His heart rate starts to go up. "Look Em," he starts (before he can chicken out). "I've really loved seeing you this weekend."

"Me too," Emily jumps in, a broad smile.

Cal feels nervous (he doesn't want to disappoint her). "But the thing is love," he swallows, meets her eyes (the warm brown; her mother's eyes) and leans forward on his crutches to take his weight while they stand in the middle of the kitchen. It's the worst kind of farewell: _I don't know when I'll see you again. _

"What's wrong?" The young woman asks.

"You know things are…" He hesitates. "Tough right now. You know why we're here?" Emily nods and he's glad he doesn't have to spell it out. "You're not supposed to know where we are." He gives her a pained expression (he wants her to know that if it were up to him, he wouldn't be saying this).

Emily's face frowns. "What does that mean?"

Emily's face frowns. "What does that mean?"

"Well, it means that…"

"No," Emily cuts him off. "I know what I means. I mean, what does it mean now? What are…? What's going to happen?" She looks so worried, Cal feels so bad.

"It means you need to go home. And you need to be careful about where you go and who with. And it means…" he pauses again, because he doesn't want to say it. "It means we can't see each other for a while."

"Dad," Emily murmurs and she does not look happy at all; she looks hurt.

"The thing is, I have to call the people looking after us and they're probably going to move me and Gillian somewhere else."

"So," Emily pauses too, giving him that chance to jump in and lay out the solution, fix the problem; super-dad.

"I promise, I'll get in touch somehow."

Emily's eyes suddenly well up with tears and Cal knows she knows what it means: he can't and won't tell her where they'll be moved to, and that means that they won't be able to say when the next time they see each other will be; there's no 'see you at Christmas'. She rushes into him (nearly knocks him flat over, but he grabs the edge of the bench to regain his balance), sliding slender arms around his waist and clinging on like she used to do when she was ten and was rationing out the affection (even though she still really needed it). Cal feels awful (can't really even hug her back, seeing as it's taking so much to just stay upright). He wishes he could make it better, to tell her 'hey I'll see you in a few weeks' but ugly thoughts course through him about missing her graduation and what if this stupid thing lasted until she got married!?

"Sorry, darling. I have to…"

"No I get it," Emily mutters into his shirt. She steps back, wipes a tear. "This is serious. You have to stay safe. You and Gillian." Cal nods, lump in his throat. "I get it, but it _sucks_."

"It does."

Emily sniffs, wipes at her cheek, wipes that onto her jeans. "Just get in touch when you can. I'll know it's you."

Cal gives a lop-sided grin. "Promise." But he'll do it differently next time.

There's the sound of a horn and Emily says quietly, "I better go." They stand for a moment and then she turns for the door. Cal swings after her and they hug again. They murmur things like 'take care' and 'I love you' and then Emily is reluctantly leaving and Cal feels weird inside, tingly and hot and nervous for her. He feels unsettled and anxious and he doesn't like it; it's an awful way to feel. He stays at the door until Emily has gotten into the cab she obviously pre-arranged, and the vehicle has disappeared out of sight. That was almost as hard as when she left for college in the first place. Except then he knew he'd see her at Thanksgiving and now he doesn't know when they'll be in the same room again. His second thought is: _I wish Gillian was here._

Harrowing, because he wants her, needs her, loves her, but insists on ruining it for the both of them (though, to be fair, he's not sure if she loves him. He's not surprised though). She'd make him feel better nevertheless, even if it were just the chance of putting his arms around her.

The next thing he has to do is call the marshals. So he goes back to bed.

**PJ**

Gillian gets a text from Cal at about eleven-thirty. It reads: _I called them._ And that's all. She texts back: _ok. _(Even though she hummed and hawed over 'thanks' and 'good' and 'finally'.) She also wants to know 'what next?' but doesn't ask. She figures she'll find out this evening (and she half hopes Cal might actually just tell her, instead of her always having to ask for information) when she gets home, if the marshals don't come and pull her out of school in the next hour. But they don't and so she continues through her day and manages to put it to the back of her mind. Today, she is busy. This morning, when she came into the building, she ran into the baseball coach, Faraday, in the main office. She had every intention of bringing up Jerome (the opportunity was begging to be acted on), but he did it first. He mentioned Jerome hanging around practice and getting himself involved. Gillian wasn't quite sure what is point was, but she jumped in, explaining that Jerome wants to be back on the team and is showing that he's dedicated and the like. They kind of sniped back and forth a bit until Coach Faraday crossed his arms in front of his chest and Gillian knew he still wasn't impressed. She flat out asked him what Jerome had to do to get back on the team. The answer? Apologise.

So now Gillian had to talk Jerome into doing that. Their last conversation about apologies hadn't gone very well (but at least there had been conversation! Still a win), she is going to have to approach this one a little differently. The good news though, is that if Jerome says the words, he's back on the team, Faraday assured her. He also assured her it was Jerome's last chance and that he, Faraday, wasn't going to put up with another punk teenager (yep he used punk as an adjective) crapping all over his team. Gillian pegged him as a military reject (and when she looks into it later, she's right). This guy has authority issues, in the sense that he must be seen as important and doesn't like to have that power challenged by someone deemed lesser than he is, like a young black man attempting to establish himself in the world… and she's gotten way off track. Analysing the wrong person (she misses the Lightman Group a little bit. She also misses the Lightman).

Gillian sees Jerome after lunch for their usual appointment, and she's right, he's not sold on the apology idea. But he does give positive indications that he wants to be back on the team and that he will do what it takes to get there; it's just the apology bit that's hard to swallow. They talk it out for an hour and he promises he'll think about it (and they talk about possible wording of such an apology) and let her know tomorrow what he has decided. Gillian is mightily pleased with that, because they're still connecting and she feels like she's helping. Even though Jerome doesn't say anything, she can see that he's happier. That makes her feel good. It makes it easier to forget about the mess happening at home.

Oh the mess at home!

That means... No more Jerome. She probably won't see him again.

Ever again.

She hates this shitty fucking situation.

It feels like an awful way to let him down. And she won't get to see him play ball. Or see him grow up a bit more. She won't get to follow up with any of her other students either. It overwhelms her, puts tears in her eyes. For half a minute, she's genuinely afraid she's going to lose it. She feels nauseatingly angry and upset, but mostly angry. Just, super pissed off with how this is panning out (not even angry with Cal right now). And feeling useless and two-faced and… just… completely unsettled. She checks the time, wonders if she can leave early. She has nothing booked for the afternoon but she is supposed to stay in case a student wants to talk to her. That being said, there are other counsellors in the suite and, the thing is, if she can't concentrate, if her own mind is a mess, how is she supposed to help anyone else with theirs? She packs her things and goes to the office, tells the secretary there that she's not feeling well and needs to go lie down (that's not entirely untrue). She gets a sympathetic response which helps her feel a little less bad about skipping out on the work day early.

She heads outside, finds the air cool but the sun bright. The sun always does something to her and she walks towards her car with her head a little higher. She'll go home (only an hour early) and relax a bit, maybe cook Cal dinner, talk with him about where their lives are going, try to make things right again (as right as possible anyway); smooth over the hurt (again). She starts fishing her keys from her purse when she suddenly feels the prickle of someone coming up to her from behind. And quickly. There's something different in the air and she raises her head to find a man in a dark suit also purposefully approaching from in front. He's wearing dark sunglasses and is otherwise nondescript. She realises too late that it's sinister but she's not sure what she can do.

"Ma'am," the man speaks and she stops walking. The man behind her comes up close, framing her and she feels trapped, awkward, cold; her stomach sets on edge. "You need to come with us."

That's it. Just the command.

"Why?" She stammers.

"Ma'am," the man repeats. His tone is flat and deadened, and he is not interested in her resistance. It happens quickly. He takes her elbow and drags her towards a waiting van, which is just a few feet away. The man behind her blocks them, making sure she can't escape. But she doesn't think to. Barely struggles (only resists when she's forced to move in a way she wasn't expecting. She can't when this man is making decisions for her), doesn't think to call out (she does a quick glance around but there's no one there). She knows they're not marshals, and she knows they're not another government or police agency come to take her to safety. No, these are probably Willis's men and she's too afraid to make decisions that could potentially end in retaliated violence. What she wants is to stay alive and so she doesn't do much to counter what they demand. They shove her into the side of the van, her purse spilling to the floor around her knees as she's forced down. She hears the door starting to slide shut behind her and almost as soon as it's closed off they're moving.

She loses her balance quickly, falls to a wrist which jars painfully against the hard exposed floor. When she regains herself she finds she's alone in the back (surely not) of a van that contains nothing at all but suspended seatbelts where extra seating could, or used to, be. The windows are tinted out and the two men sitting in the front drive quickly and without speaking. She loses track of the turns, can't make out anything through the windshield and gives up. She thinks _'my phone!' _and searches through the spillage on the van floor, but she can't find it. It might have slid away. Or they might have taken it when she wasn't paying attention.

There's a sharp corner and Gillian slides awkwardly across the metallic floor of the van. There are grooves in the surface but also the ends of screws sticking up for the fitting of the back seat. Gillian's knee crushes into one while the palm of her hand cops another one. Her palm holds out, but her knee does not and it stings like a bitch as it starts to bleed. She tries to sit more comfortably (rues her decision to swear a skirt today) but it's a struggle and she flails around like a baby giraffe. For preservation, she spends so much time worrying about sliding around in the back (and finding a tissue for her bleeding knee) that she almost forgets about the fact that she's been kidnapped. That is, until the van stops, and her heart starts to beat as the two men get out of the front and come around the side. They reach in for her, strong groping hands that she fends off feebly. She kicks out weakly and starts to make noise (like someone would be able to hear her pathetic whimpering) but they over power her far too easily and she succumbs because she has no choice (she just feels like she has no choice). They put a black sack over her head and bind her arms at the wrist into the small of her back (those plastic ties with edges that cuts into her flesh). Then they make her stand, her legs shaking and her knee stinging and her arms aching and she feels nauseated and panicked; she breathes in dust through the material of the sack. She cringes, waiting for a strike, the slap of a hand against her head; a bullet. But there's nothing. She stands for a long time and she starts to listen and as the blood rushing in her ears quietens down, she can hear the muffled sound of a man talking.

**PJ**

Cal goes back to sleep and when he wakes he makes the phone call to the marshals. Then he texts Gillian to let her know he's made the call. She texts back 'ok' but nothing else and he thinks 'fine then, be like that' (which he's very well sounds childish, thanks) and puts his phone down on the kitchen bench and goes to sit on the couch (so if she does text something else, he can plausibly deny getting it promptly). He emails Ria and tells her he's been busted. He'll try to get back to her sometime but for now, if he goes silent, that's why. In his inbox are the emails from Emily and so he reads them over again, feeling sorry for himself and alone. He figures she'll be almost back in LA by now and she'll pick her life up where she left it, like Colorado never happened. Cal wishes Colorado never happened to him either. The marshals were not happy with him (actually, he just talked to their handler, Walker). Not at all. He could tell from the tone (Gillian would be so proud) and the clipped words. They're coming over to sort things out (he was told quite explicitly to not leave the house), which means they're probably going to get told off and moved. Or completely abandoned (which makes Cal feel incredibly guilty. Because as Gillian said, this doesn't just involve him).

Eventually, Cal gets up and tidies up the house (particularly the kitchen where he and Emily had breakfast together just a few hours ago), then tidies up himself (has a bit of a wash) and as he's going to the kitchen to make a start on dinner (and check his phone, because he does hope that Gillian has text him something else) there's a bang on the door. He figures that's the marshals then, so he swings to the front entrance and pulls it open and in the split second that he sees who is there, he knows he's wrong. They're not the marshals. Its two men in black suits and dark sunglasses and Cal can just tell straight away that these men are not official. He takes a half hop back and grabs for the door but the two men read him easily and barge in, knocking Cal back so that he falls to the floor. He falls heavily, his crutches clattering away, no way to break his fall (he bruises his ass). His head strikes the floor hard, blackens his vision for a second and his good leg bends awkwardly under him. The front door slams shut. A second later the men grab him and he struggles against them in a feeble way (because he's feeling like a turtle on his back again). It takes them no effort to tie his good arm to his bad arm and pull him up to stand on his feet. Of course, that's no good, and he lists to one side and then slides to the floor again in an uncouth heap as they're trying to put a black sack over his head. They do it anyway, jerking his head around when he doesn't cooperate (he's a bit dazed actually) while he's slouched in a heap on the floor. They leave him there, where he is, his head throbbing and his breaks protesting the awkward angles his body has been pulled into.

He suddenly feels nauseated and the enormity of what's happening washes over him in a panicked sweat. With it dark, Cal can hear his own breathing loudly in his ears, but he does catch something else, something, a noise, that doesn't come from him. A cuss. And the click of a gun.


	19. Chapter 19

Gillian wakes to her alarm but this one is set for a much more reasonable hour, and she already does better generally with the later wake time (seven-thirty a.m. instead of two hours earlier than that), no longer feeling like a zombie. She slept well last night, like she has for the last month, since she was released from the hospital (they insisted on waking her every four hours to make sure she was ok. She would have been more ok without the broken sleep). She doesn't sleep in tense cycles anymore and she doesn't wake up wondering where she is; she's no longer confused. After Gillian shuts off the alarm, she gets out of bed straight away. She pulls back the floor to ceiling curtains of the hotel room and lets in the morning light. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day, but she won't be allowed out to enjoy it. She doesn't get to go out in public, unless it's to walk to the vehicle taking her to a meeting, or recently, to the courthouse. The marshals worry about assassination attempts, and given what happened in Colorado, Gillian has trouble faulting them on that logic (she wants to stay safe, definitely alive, probably more than they do).

From the hotel window she can actually make out the Lightman Group office building in the far distance (it reflects the sun like it has its own spotlight) and it makes her miss Cal so fiercely (so physically) she has to quickly crack a window to let in fresh air (sometimes the staleness of air conditioning needs to be countered) and turn away (she does this every morning, and every morning it strikes her so hard that she can't breathe). She goes to the bathroom, strips down and has a quick shower (she might be allowed to sleep in a bit these days, but she still has somewhere to be). She dries her hair in a plush bathrobe and then checks the time. Her breakfast will arrive shortly. She finishes with hair product, moisturisers; small jobs to waste a few minutes. There's a tap at her door. She doesn't check to see who it is before she answers. It's Robbie with her breakfast tray and that cute dimpled smile, and hovering behind him is a marshal in a light grey suit, watching intently, making sure there's "Good morning," she greets and steps back to let him in. The marshal holds the door open with a wide palm while Robbie comes in and puts the tray of food (and coffee!) down on the desk. Gillian thanks him. And then she asks him if he's seen Cal this morning (he alternates who he delivers breakfast to first, so he's become a sort of messenger service for them, swapping casual verbal utterances on their behalf – usually just hello. Sometimes it's the only way Gillian hears of Cal in days. They've mostly been kept apart since the thing in Colorado blew up around them. And she's pretty sure the kid started alternating so that he _could_ pass messages).

"He said to tell you 'today is the day'," Robbie says quietly (like it's a secret the marshal standing at the door isn't allowed to overhear. Even though he probably did). He finishes with an expression that says 'that's it' and 'do you get it?' so Gillian nods her thanks again, signs for the food (the marshals are footing the hotel bill and everything else) and Robbie leaves again. The marshal takes too long to let the door shut (Gillian doesn't like the way he looks at her sometimes; she has an urge to wrap her bathrobe up tighter) but eventually she is alone again and she sits to eat. Staring at the wall. Thinking about Cal.

So today is the day he's testifying (he's going first. He saw more at the meth house). It's been weeks in the making. All the testimony preparation and then the beginning of the trial. Everyday has a media frenzy outside the courthouse and Gillian knows their names and faces are everywhere. She thinks Willis wouldn't dare send more men to try and kill her now, not with everything so public, but the marshals differ in that opinion. And as she said before, she's quite happy to stay alive. Her heart is beating faster with just the knowledge that Cal is going to take the stand today. Because after he's done telling his story, she has to tell hers. And that makes her nervous (she's never loved being in a courtroom as much as Cal appears to).

Not surprisingly, Gillian's appetite takes a hit and she has to force the food in. She manages half, then gives up, her stomach tight and unrelenting. She gets dressed, finishes her hair and makeup, and is ready to go before the marshals knock on her door to give her a five minute warning. Even though she's ready, she's not allowed to wait in the hall (for a glimpse of Cal), because that's a safety issue. She's apparently so much safer in her room. She hears male voices outside her door but she doesn't see much when she peeks through the peephole (to see if she can get a glimpse of Cal). After the abductions in Colorado, she didn't get to see him much. When they were moved back to DC she sat next to him on the plane, but with everyone else around (including a contingent of marshals, those nosey bastards), they didn't exactly get to talk thoroughly. They did swap stories in low stilted conversations (Gillian found it hard to recount) but the flight was short and there wasn't much time for anything meaningful. Aside from that, she wants to talk to him to just talk to him; he's her best friend.

They don't see each other much these days, but there have still been a few moments. They don't get time alone, but sometimes they do get a little bit of time. She knows what he will say when he's on the stand. Despite preparing their testimonies separately with the state prosecutor, and essentially being separated since they got back to DC (though she doesn't know why. So they can't collude, maybe?), Cal has already managed to tell her exactly what he saw, exactly what he's going to say, exactly what happened to him (Willis's henchmen broke into the house and subdued Cal in much the same way they subdued her: bag over the head, arms tied behind his back. They were waiting for darkness to be able to move him from the house, seeing as they found his leg to be quite broken and him quite unhelpful. It was too much of a risk for the neighbours to see, even if they were only moving a body. While they waited and argued about it (there were a lot of phone calls back to the boss about the decision), the marshal's showed up. The agents already knew about what had happened to Gillian – they had sent agents to find her at that same moment – and were obviously alarmed at what was going on; particularly given what Cal had already confessed to them that he had broken protocol and told people their whereabouts. They raced to the house and found Cal face down on the living room carpet. One of the bad guys took a shot at one of the agents, so the agents returned fire and killed him).

There's a knock on Gillian's door and she opens it to find Walker there. He asks if she's ready to go, she is, so she steps out into the corridor and starts to head down to the elevators. She assumes the voices in the hallway a moment ago was Cal being taken to the courthouse, but she doesn't see him now. When they arrive at the court building they drive around to the back and enter through a secure doorway. She's taken through empty corridors to a small holding room for witnesses, where she has to wait for her turn to testify (probably not today, but she's had to be there for every day of the trial so far, to prove her existence). It's been a week and a half of horrifically long, boring days of sitting and waiting (and fretting), with little to do and no contact with anyone at all. This witness thing is a real burden and she will be glad when it's over (she hasn't even begun to think about the trials for Willis' henchmen, which will probably happen in a few months' time. Hopefully. So they can get it over with. She's ready for this to be over).

Gillian's not allowed a newspaper (or a phone) but she has a book, so she settles in to read for several hours. There are breaks mid-morning, lunch and in the afternoon, when someone brings her coffee and food, so it's been easier to break those chunks of time up into smaller units. She only has to get through two hours and then there's a break in the monotony. But she's startled after only half an hour by the door opening and she panics immediately, thinking something sinister is happening (because this isn't normal). Gillian's getting to her feet, preparing to yell (there's nowhere to run), when she sees Cal coming in. He is still on crutches, his leg still in a cast (though it is one he's allowed to walk on now that the callus has finally formed), his wrist in a Velcro brace. He still moves awkwardly; with his wrist bound it's continues to not be easy and straight forward to manoeuvre his broken leg, and he still refuses a wheelchair (even though that really would have made quite an impact with the jury). His face was bruised where he was knocked about, but they're so faint now that the yellow markings are only really visible up close (there was a fracture to his eye socket that has taken a long time to heal).

Cal looks up and gives her a grin, "hey love," and she moves forward to meet him. She hugs him awkwardly (awkwardly because he didn't get enough warning to get his arms up to hug her back; she wraps her arms around him and the crutches) and breathes in the smell of him, relishing in the tangibility of him. She steps back and studies him and finds he actually looks quite good (he's had a haircut recently), though it's odd to see him clean shaven. "You all right?" He asks her and she says 'yes' but has to step back further, duck her face away from him because she's suddenly overwhelmed (her face feels warm and she misses his lips). She covers by pulling out a chair for him to sit. "I've only got a moment. They're haranguing over some last minute legal something," he gripes.

Gillian turns to face him, her hands still on the back of the chair (a barrier between them now. But she needs it. He does things to her). Cal gives her a smile and she forces herself to return it (he can probably see right through that). "How have you been?" She asks him with sincerity (but also, it's a diversion).

"Good. Look Gill," Cal says and takes a half pace further (he doesn't step on his broken leg, but does rest it on the carpet when he's still). He doesn't sit. "There's something I really need to talk to you about."

Gillian feels her stomach flutter. She wasn't expecting this, but she all of a sudden has a pretty strong hunch she knows what he's going to say next (or something along the lines of). It's so obvious in the intensity of his gaze and the nervous twist of his mouth (plus, she knows him. Sometimes). Gillian's not sure if she indicates he should go on or not, but he does anyway. There's no preamble. He looks her right in the eye (all sincere). "What happens next?"

She knows exactly what he means. He means 'what happens next with us'. So she wasn't wrong. But it's still surprising because, actually, she didn't think he would ever ask her directly (sort of. Probably as directly as Cal gets with her), would never put voice to thoughts in his head (would never clue her in to what he was thinking or how he was feeling).

The door opens again and one of the court officers is there. "Time to go, Sir."

Cal doesn't face the door, doesn't acknowledge the man. His face falls a little and Gillian watches the way it crumples (and the hurt that shadows his eyes) as he realises his chance has fallen away and she hasn't answered him. (Yet). She wants to, but she finds herself unsure of what to say (where to even start?).  
>"Sir?" The officer prompts.<p>

"Yep," Cal says and he swings his way out of the room again without looking at her. Gillian imagines the courtroom gasps as Cal goes in (they probably don't, but it would be pretty dramatic if they did). She can't hear them, can't hear a thing in the room she's in (the courthouse is usually hushed but the walls here are also thick), except some birds outside the window. She imagines him heading down the aisle, through the bar to the jury box, taking his time, soaking it all up; he does love to make a scene (but she wonders how easily it will come to him given what just transpired. He likes to act a certain way, but the key word is that it's an act).

'_What happens next?'_

He didn't mean with the case, with the trial, with any of this that is happening right now. He wants to know what she thinks about _them_. But she hasn't thought about it; has purposefully not been thinking about it. Because at first, it seemed more fantasy than real (them being thrown together, living together, then being together). Then it became her reality (she gave in and believed in this new world of theirs; she tried to get on with her new life), and she didn't want to think about it ending (not like Cal had. He had plans all along to go home, apparently. Apparently, he had also been emailing the Lightman Group to try and help work the case). And now she finds herself in a strange position because he clearly _has_ thought about it (about them, about so much, apparently) and so she's on the back foot, but also, she's about to testify against a powerful man, and her life is by no means safe. Not just yet. She's not quite sure why she's even still alive.

Reece was standing outside the school having a cigarette when she left early that day, and he saw her being shoved into the van. He immediately took down the plate number and called the police. Certain people keep tabs on certain buzz names that may go through the precincts of Boulder, and because Gillian and Cal were in witness protection, their names were ones to be monitored. So as her name went out over the radio waves related to a kidnapping, the right people also contacted the marshals, and a task force was swiftly mobilised to find her. In the meantime, while Gillian was on her knees in the dust, certain of her imminent death (hyperventilating in the black bag and listening to the muffled sounds of the world around her, paranoid about hearing the click of a gun), her kidnappers were wasting time, waiting for Cal to go first so they could bring the body out there and bury it next to her. She's not sure why they felt the need to keep her alive until Cal's body showed up (because it might have been more convenient to just bury her first, seeing as she was already there), but it gave her the time needed to be rescued. Good police work found her in time (and she is so very grateful).

Gillian notices she's still standing in the same place where Cal left her a moment ago. She goes to the window and looks out over the city. It's a sunny day and in the distance she can see the Washington Monument; a familiar sight. When they flew in to Virginia a few weeks ago, she could see it from the window of the plane and it had sent a pang of homesickness to her stomach she hadn't been expecting. Yes, she missed her life, her home, more importantly, the people in it, but while she has been in witness protection, she hadn't given them too much thought. Definitely not after she and Cal had started dating (or whatever it was that they were doing. Sleeping together); he has been a nice distraction in some ways. A nightmare in others. Things were bad right at the end there, but it's Cal, and she has always (mostly) been hopeful that they would come right again. When it comes to him… she can't not.

Now her distraction is rescinding his designator; he's forcing her to think about things she hasn't wanted to think about, and is in the other room so she can't be, well, distracted, from thinking about it. So. Ok, so he has thought about it. But she doesn't know what he wants from her and that would have been helpful information. He just asked her what was happening next, with them, and she didn't have an answer. And his timing is lousy (it usually is). Gillian goes to sit at the table again. The chairs aren't that comfortable, even though they're fashionable. There is seriously nothing else in the room, not even a picture on the wall. So all Gillian can really even do right now is think about what she wants (she hasn't been allowed her phone either, though she's not sure why. Probably so she can't contact the outside world. Or is it so someone on the outside can't contact her? She can think of half a dozen people who would be thrilled to hear she's back in the district, and she can think of at least three people who could potentially tell her something to sway her testimony on the stand later. Ok, she gets why she doesn't have her phone.)

And thinking about it...

She knows what Cal wants. Now that she's making confessions, she's known for a while. He wants her. She might have known that for a long time actually, before any of this even happened. She doesn't know what 'wanting her' entails (and he hasn't even said the words, officially, but she's not too bad at reading between the lines). At one point, a few years ago, she might have just thought it was a physical thing, and if they hadn't been forced to actually live together, might it have continued to remain just that? Physical. And then for a while there, just before this witness protection thing started, she started to think they could have had something more than just a physical attraction. But, since then, they haven't really talked about a future, talked about feelings or what sleeping together has meant, and everything's just gotten so much more complicated since that meth lab exploded. So it has just been a physical thing. But she guesses maybe now Cal is asking her if she wants more than that (without telling her what he wants out of it. Which is damn annoying. And will also force her to give him a truthful answer, without trying to appease his).

But the question now is, _does_ she want him?

**PJ**

Cal's testimony goes on for so long that he's still in there after lunch (he saw a lot more initially than Gillian did at the meth lab). He gets to the end of the day and thinks the defence's cross is just about done with (this is different from other times he's testified. In this instance, he's not an expert witness offering an opinion. He's telling it how he saw it; his version of the truth); he doubts he'll be back on the stand for long tomorrow, if at all. Which means Gillian won't get on the stand at all today and she'll have another fretful night to get through. He does feel bad about it for a moment; he doesn't really want her to feel more awful than she does. He knows she spends too much time thinking about all of it, worrying that she's going to forget her own memories; she's been a bit up and down in the last few months (and he hasn't been particularly supportive). Mostly what he's thinking about now though, is what they started to talk about before he left the waiting room (they had lunch separately and during the afternoon recess they were kept apart again. The prosecution wanted to talk to him during the break and that meant he didn't get to see Gillian. It does start to feel a bit like a conspiracy though. They're in separate hotel rooms and he gets the distinct impression they're not really supposed to talk to each other. Every time he even tries to leave his hotel room there's a man in a suit with an ear piece asking him where he's going and if it's really necessary).

What he was asking her for, before he left that morning, was a commitment. Of some sort. He doesn't know how it's going to work, hasn't thought that far ahead, isn't sure about the details at all, but knows he doesn't want it to end now that the case is going to trial and they have the option to return back to their normal lives. He doesn't want to lose her, doesn't want to let her go. He'd even give it all up and follow her back to their life in Colorado (or somewhere else), if that is what she really wants to do (it is an option the marshals gave them but Cal's not sure it would be feasible. They're known in Colorado now. It wouldn't be a case of easily slipping back in. It's not going to be easy to just slip into their lives here either. They could go somewhere new though, start all over again one more time). There's nothing like having his life threatened to really make him think about things... about what's important.

What surprises him, and what troubles him, is that Gillian has so obviously _not_ been thinking about what she wanted out of their relationship (she flashed some serious surprise at him this morning). It is a relationship. They've been pretending and not pretending at it. So how come she hasn't thought about it? Maybe it's him. And that's worrying. He doesn't have a lot to offer her really, but himself. No fancy car or flash house; prestige or a name (his name isn't even his name anymore). He's half way between two lives and he's not sure which one is the better of them. They came to a sense of contentment in new lives in Colorado (before all the shit hit the fan. His bad), but DC and the Lightman Group has been their dream for so long as well. This is hard.

When the judge finally calls an end to the day of court, he's escorted back to the same room where he left Gillian that morning. An officer of the court (a different one) opens the door for him and he swings himself in, lending his weight to his good side to put less pressure on his still healing wrist. He's supposed to be walking a little on his broken leg, because the weight of his body will force the new bone to mineralise quicker (which means it will get hard and strong again), but its tender and he's wary (too much walking on it before it was ready to be load bearing). When he gets through the door, he sees Gillian sitting at the head of the table, and she looks worrisome. It feels like it's been an incredibly long day, but there are so many breaks in court, so many interruptions and recesses and asides, that it's actually still early in the afternoon and they've already adjourned because it's just so bloody exhausting (Cal's pretty sure the judge gets tired).

The officer of the court closes the door behind them, and Cal knows it's just a matter of time before someone on the prosecution team comes in to debrief him or to steal Gillian away, or a marshal comes to escort them back to the hotel (to different rooms. Cal's not sure where Gillian's is but he does know it is in the building somewhere). They've probably got seconds, if barely a minute, to talk, to say anything at all. Gillian gets up and goes to him (she's been shopping, or maybe she was allowed to go home and get clothes, because she's in one of those familiar form fitting dresses that just are so amazing on her figure. But he's not sure if he recognises the navy blue or not). Cal gathers his crutches aside, leaning them against the table, and resting his casted foot on the carpet to steady his balance (he's got just a lower leg cast now, which is much nicer). As soon as he's clear, Gillian steps into his arms. He hasn't had a chance to read her face before she's pressing her nose in against his neck, her arms tight around his shoulders, holding on. It's always nice to be held by her (particularly because it means she's not angry with him. After all the shitty things he did, she's not mad at him), but this time feels like more; soothing and grounding. Cal turns his cheek to press against hers and locks his hands in the small of her back. He wants to close his eyes and pretend they're somewhere else, and that none of this happened. But if it hadn't happened he's not sure they'd be standing there like this either (the hugging bit, not the testimony bit). They wouldn't, but she wouldn't be in his arms like this otherwise. He's made hints and feeble attempts, but nothing ever serious about having something more than just a friendship with her, until the explosion happened. And then they sort of just happened. He sort of helped that along. (He hasn't been particularly direct, forceful, determined; focused.) But he does like to think that even without the explosion, they would have happened eventually (probably happened better). But that's how he feels. He doesn't know how Gillian feels. She is actually quite good at keeping her feelings guarded.

"How'd it go?" Gillian speaks into his hair.

"All right," he responds neutrally, stirred by the sound of her voice. He opens his eyes and they pull back to look at each other.

"We should talk?"

"Yes," he breathes. He feels excited, but maybe he shouldn't be. He can't read her, doesn't know what she's going to say. She might turn him down flat. _Thanks but no thanks. It was just sex for me. I want to remain friends. _And that would gut him. But he really wants and hopes for her to say the opposite: _I love you Cal. I want to be with you Cal. We can make this work Cal. I forgive you Cal._

Gillian looks down at where their bodies are pressed together, and then her eyes flicker up to his again and as she opens her mouth to start talking, there's a knock at the door. Cal's heart beats hard against his ribs and someone is coming into the room, Walker, their handler. He looks a little abashed, but mostly resigned (Cal gets the impression the agent is not happy to know he and Gillian have hooked up, of sorts. But he doesn't get why. And doesn't care either. It's none of their business. He doesn't think that maybe the other man is just a little embarrassed to interrupt was is obviously an intimate moment between them). He doesn't have to say anything, they know it means it's time to leave. Gillian's arms drop from Cal and so he has to let his own fall from her body. He takes up his crutches again and Gillian leaves the room first. They get taken back to the hotel in separate cars. Remember how Willis hadn't made any threats against them before? Well, he made them. They were those kind of openly, thinly veiled, obvious but also highly deniable kinds of threats that make Gillian feel anxious (she hasn't said, but Cal can tell) and Cal feel like he wants to punch someone in the face.

Cal doesn't see Gillian again that evening, and now that he's testified, his world is going to change again. He's not required to be at the courthouse after tomorrow (and so he doesn't know what he's going to be doing with his days), but it's not over yet. There's no guilty verdict and Willis is not behind bars.

**PJ**

Because Gillian has absolutely nothing to do with her time these days, aside from sit around and read (which she has done _a lot_ of in the last few weeks) and watch movies, she also tends to go to bed early. Sometimes she watches movies before she goes to sleep, but two weeks in the same hotel room and she's watched everything on cable (one movie was so good she watched it three times). The hotel concierge, Monica, has been amazing. She found Gillian a DVD player and runs out every few days to get her new movies to watch (Gillian thinks she might have viewed the entire DVD store by now). She was halfway through one last night when she decided to put the light out, but doesn't feel in the mood to watch the rest while she eats her dinner alone. It's amazing though, she's supposed to be thinking about Cal and what to tell him (what she was going to say at the courthouse was basically to interrogate him about what he wanted, if he was serious etc), and how she feels about him, but she finds it easy to distract herself, even with so little to do. She takes a long hot shower and she puts her pyjamas on. Room service arrives and she eats at the desk, staring at the blank wall. She watches the city beneath her for a while, then does her teeth and gets into bed. She finishes her book and puts the light out (even though she's not sleepy) and then there's a tap at the door. At first, she's not sure she heard it, and she wonders if she has fallen asleep. But it comes again and so she checks the time (ten thirty), and gets out of bed. She's feeling wary, and so she checks the peephole before she fumbles with the lock, her heart pounding. "Cal!"

"Shh," he says and comes in, pressing in against her, like he can squeeze into the gap she barely left between herself and the doorframe. He's not on crutches and Gillian moves out of the way (even though he's already basically felt her up and she kind of liked it), backing up against the wall by the door, wondering what's going on (also, she's glad to see him again. They don't get to spend any regular time together. The thing at the courthouse threw her off; she misses him).

"What are you doing here?" Gillian whispers.

Cal pushes the door closed carefully. "I wanted to see you."

Gillian's heart flutters.

"We didn't get to finish talking," Cal adds.

Gillian's heart slows abruptly. Aw crap, she doesn't know what to tell him (because she can't make up her damn mind. She wants him and yet she doesn't want the drama that comes with him. And she can't decide if she can overlook that). Cal steps towards her in the darkness and she can't see his face clearly, just a basic outline (it feels like he's looking at her intensely). "How? Don't? How'd you sneak out?" She puts her hands on his shoulders (though she's not sure if that's to steady him or herself; or maybe to keep a reasonable distance), feels the bones of his shoulders beneath her palms; solid and real, and her heart rate picks up again.

"Babysitter fell asleep," Cal says, his voice low and intimate and he comes a little closer, shuffling, his hands ghosting at her hips.

"How'd you find me?" Gillian almost whispers, Cal's so close she can feel his body warmth, and even though she's forming words, she's barely even listening to herself.

"Power of deduction," Cal murmurs but Gillian is already sliding her hands into his hair, pulling him closer. She presses her mouth to his and his good hand slides firmly against her waist, as he helps to fit his mouth against hers. At first, it's just a kiss, but then it becomes hot and heavy (Gillian finds herself teasing at his lips with her tongue; then can't quite believe she's done it) and Cal's hands find their way under her pyjama shirt, smoothing against her skin to create a tense friction that has her heart throbbing. She presses her hips against him in a rhythm of their own and she alternates between caressing his ears and rubbing her palms against the day old stubble on his jaw. He's taking his cues from her, but she's really turned on and she's not stopping this (and see? This is why it's so hard to make a decision about whether she wants him or not. Because chemistry like this, like she's never experienced with anyone else, is a big fat tick in the plus column. While all the other shit he does weighs down the minuses and it's difficult to determine which side is winning out).

Gillian's mind races ahead; she imagines them in bed together, even though they're still pressed up against the wall. She shifts her hands to tug at Cal's hips, feels the coarseness of his suit trousers beneath her fingers. She shifts her hands to the front, fumbles with the catch. He can take a hint rather well, because he moves to undo the buttons of her pyjama top and they're both standing there, breathing heavily, undressing each other. And then there's a bang at the door and Gillian startles hard, an inadvertent noise in her throat.

"Ma'am!" A male voice calls through the wood and Cal is cussing under his breath.

"Busted."

Gillian hears the key card in the door's slot and the handle is dropping and she grabs at the material around her torso to cover her exposed chest. Cal steps back from her, does his trousers up, so when the door actually opens they're both just standing there, blinking against the light in their eyes. On the threshold is an agent in a dark suit, a radio in his hand, the door handle still in the other, so he's leaning in on them. Gillian's not sure what kind of conclusion he can form (she thinks she and Cal do a pretty good job of nonchalant. And it feels so humiliating to be busted by the marshals. Also, can they not get a freaking minute of space?), but he seems surprised to see them nonetheless. He puts the radio to his mouth, "Found him. He's here with me now."

Cal rolls his eyes. "Can I just have a minute?" He tries pushing the door closed.  
>"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."<p>

"In a minute," Cal repeats, pushing on the door. He doesn't get it all the way shut, like the agent thinks Cal might do a runner, and can't quite let the barrier come between them. "Feel like a bloody criminal."

"Yeah," Gillian agrees. It does feel like that. Completely intrusive and controlling and restrictive. And they're supposed to be the good guys.

Cal looks over at her, he seems unsure and not quite able to make her eye, and Gillian knows he's wanting answers (he wants her to go first). But she doesn't know what to say and so she doesn't say anything and after a moment Cal seems resigned. "All right," he says. "Take care then." (An odd parting shot, but not snide.) And he reaches for the door and pulls it open. Gillian doesn't know it then, but she isn't alone in a room with him again for over a month (and if she did know, she might have given him something to hold on to). She stands still as Cal leaves the room (doesn't know what to say). The marshal sticks his head back in to ask if everything is ok, and she says it is (she can't wait for this testimony thing to be over. She's seriously had enough. Even though she's also scared about what happens after. How safe will her life be?) She's already walking back to bed before the door closes and the room goes dark. She's still tightly gripping her pyjama top until she gets back into bed, then doesn't bother doing it up again.

She's not sure where to start with the thinking, but she does know what she wants to say to Cal now (and she might be able to get Robbie to tell Cal something hopeful tomorrow morning after all, so long as he delivers her breakfast before he delivers Cal's). She thinks she can get there, if she's given some time, and she can see how things go. It's not easy with Cal, but she thinks that in her heart she maybe loves him in some way. She just needs time to really know if that's true or not, and if that's enough. And in the meantime, she doesn't want to hurt him; doesn't want to lead him on.

That's what she would tell him.

If that makes any sense at all?


	20. Chapter 20

It's hot in California. Well, it is spring, so it's pretty warm (humid, the air thick and clingy and making everything worse) and Cal's not used to this kind of warmth. As he walks down the street, he feels flushed and damp with sweat (to be fair, he's just finishing up five kilometres of power-strolling) and he feels kind of gross really; he wants a shower. He turns the corner, sidesteps a woman with baby and a cigarette (look how deftly he can move now!) and heads on down the block to the motel. He fishes the key out of his pocket as he walks into the drive, anticipation of cold water itching at the wariness. His legs are aching, his right leg more than the other (the left one is a worked muscle thing, the right one is the healing of his bone). He finds himself slowing down even as his room approaches, so it seems longer and more torturous to get there; he's wary. He pops open the door and has to step over mail shoved under the door onto the carpet. He stoops to pick it up, then let's the door swing closed. With mail and keys still in hand, he goes around the room and opens every window, hoping for a breeze that doesn't exist. He switches on the fan by the TV (no air-conditioning here; seems a cruel lack in the desert) and finally throws himself backwards onto the double bed.

The cooler air tickles over his knees (yep, he's wearing shorts) in a kind of unpleasant way really, considering they're sweaty. He pulls himself to sit with his abdominal muscles only (keys in one hand and mail in the other). He _can_ use his broken wrist now, almost like normal, but he's still a bit wary of too much work, too much pressure; besides, he doesn't want to touch his sweaty self right now, or have anything else against his skin either. He tosses the room key to the Formica table and puts the mail down on the mattress next to his thigh. He peels his t-shirt off and tosses it to the floor by the bathroom. The fan blows cool air right against his bare chest now; much better. He picks up the mail again. There's fliers (he doesn't know why the motel insists on giving them to him), the bill from the motel for this month, and a large manila envelope. He ditches the other mail and studies the envelope closer. It's addressed to him with a label printed from a computer (can't guess the sender from handwriting then). He flips the envelope over. The return address is a business stamp. And that stamp is from his lawyer.

**PJ**

It's warm in DC and Gillian's been sitting out the back in the sun, reading with iced tea and a big straw hat. It's Wednesday, so it's quiet in her neighbourhood, and what brings her inside is a knock at the door (a hard pounding, actually; they might have knocked more than once); she's curious about who it could be. Not a lot of people come knocking on her door these days (but notice she didn't have a panicked response to the knock? She's done some work on it); she's had a lot of time to… relax and find herself once more (reassess her life and learn to trust again). It's not a social piranha kind of thing, it's just that, everyone she knows is employed, so they're otherwise occupied (but maybe it also is a little bit that it's weird, with the witness protection thing and court case; people don't really know what to say to her, though she can tell they're intensely curious. What would have been great, was if she had her partner in crime with her when she had to face the music. But after he testified she didn't see him and then after the guilty verdict was given, and the marshal's finally released them back into the world (it was their choice whether they went back to their old lives or started over with new ones), he did a runner. She hasn't seen or heard from him since. And while she's been assured by the private investigator she eventually had to hire to find him, that he's not dead, that doesn't make her feel any better about what is, essentially, acute rejection). There's another knock just as she's approaching the door and she twists the lock without hesitation (without even having to check who it is first) and pulls it towards her but her heart immediately thunders.

"Cal!"

He grins at her. That self-confident 'ta da!' (I'm back!) grin that she kind of can't resist (but also dislikes). She steps right back to let him in and reaches out a hand to his shoulder to guide him, and he comes towards her. As he brushes past (a little too closely, considering she gave him a lot of room to get by) she's overwhelmed for a moment by the rugged scent of him. She's distracted for a second, her heart still pounding, but then she pushes the door shut with one hand and tightens her grip on his shoulder with the other (like now that she has him in her possession she doesn't want to let go; he might disappear on her again). Despite the anger she feels towards him (sometimes), she pulls him into a hug, standing on her tiptoes in her bare feet so she can tuck her chin over his shoulder, shifting the hand that was there a moment ago so it wraps around the back of his neck (clinging). A tight, full body hug; she squeezes him, overcome with seeing him again (because he's been gone for… a freaking long time and the last time she saw him was that night in the hotel. And despite the fact that he can be really, really lousy sometimes, she still cares about him; and that overpowers the anger). Cal tightens his arms around her back, taking note of all the delicious ways she's pressed against him (and how nice she smells). And then he realises how tightly she's holding him and when he tries to pull away to end the hug, she holds on even tighter, like she's afraid he's going to pry her loose (reject her). He lets her stay against him, drops his chin to her shoulder, holds on (mmm her hair smells really nice), and waits for her cue (he'll happily hold her until she pushes him away).

After a long minute, Gillian recognises herself just how long she's been holding on (and how potentially awkward it could be) and pulls back, tucking hair behind her ear so she can duck her face and hide a little. The hug was awkward, sure, but she gets over it quickly; she's suddenly angry again (typical pattern for them. As soon as she realises he's not actually seriously hurt, her frustration rears). She looks up and meets his eye (he kind of looks happy) and then she shoves him lightly (more of a tap against his shoulder; he barely moves from the force. And he still looks pleased with himself. Annoying really). "Where have you been?" She demands.

Cal gives a slight pout. "California."

"California?" Gillian repeats with uncertainty. "I called Emily looking for you…"

Cal's surprised and not really surprised (of course he figured Gillian would look for him, and it makes sense that she would call his daughter, but it's still a surprise to hear it, that his suspicions are true). ). "Em didn't know I was there." (But no, he couldn't go a month without talking to his daughter. He's been texting her. She didn't mention Gillian called her. He wonders why that was? He's going to have to ask her next time they talk. As it turns out, when Gillian called Emily, she had just dropped Cal at the airport. So she told the older woman he was on his way home, and figured they had caught up a few hours later.)

Gillian frowns at him.

"She dropped me at the airport," Cal goes on. "And I just… couldn't get on the plane."

"So you just stayed?"

"I stayed," Cal nods. "I found a motel." (As if that titbit of information is going to clarify it all.)

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, course," Cal nods again.

"You couldn't call me?" Her next question is more curious than fuming.

"I'm sorry," Cal says immediately, but he means it, and he can see the surprise on Gillian's face at the simple apology (yeah, he's not given too many of them over the years). He can see that it disarms her. Gillian studies him, the crease of the frown still there. Cal wonders how she'll take the explanation he's given (or lack thereof) but she doesn't push and he finds it a little disappointing (what if she doesn't care to ask?). They're silent for a moment and Cal's working up the courage to keep the conversation going (he hasn't realised before how much he relies on Gillian to ask the questions and push them forward). "I needed to think."

"Think?" Gillian repeats.

"Think," Cal echoes with a nod of confirmation. (He is a cowardly lion. He needs them to warm up before he launches into his justifications and insights and talks her into giving him a second chance).

"Well, you look ok," she says tentatively, the frown smoothing out. He does though. He's in shorts and a t-shirt; casual, but he looks slightly tanned and relaxed. Actually, more relaxed than she's probably ever seen him.

Cal feels his stomach do something strange. "So do you," he says softly, and takes that as a good sign. He's gone AWOL and he knows he has to do some repairing (more repairing. A lot of repairing really) but at least she hasn't slammed the door in his face, and at least she's still talking to him.

Gillian hesitates on the carpet by the door. "Do you want something to drink?" She offers to break the growing tension (the way Cal is looking at her, in that attentive interested way, it makes her want to kiss him. And she doesn't want to fall into that; she's mad at him. She thinks. No, she is, it's just that… he confuses her).

"Sure," Cal agrees.

They go to the kitchen. Cal watches Gillian's ass as they go (seriously sexy. And those are rather short shorts) and thinks that really, this isn't going so bad (considering she had every right to knee him in the balls). As Gillian walks off, she starts to wonder what Cal's doing there, what he wants from her, what she should say or ask or do, and why he's being different (he seems different. It might just be the relaxed thing, but the energy around him feels… different). It unsettles her because she doesn't know what to expect. When she doesn't know what to expect, she feels closed off and defensive (and her mind races with trying to figure it all out before she's made to look a fool).

"Tea?" Gillian says over her shoulder, catches Cal's eyes lowered and feels heat in her cheeks; he's checking out her ass (which she likes, and simultaneously feels uncomfortable with. He confuses her…).

"Great," Cal responds. He can't quite bring himself to feel bad for being busted looking at her ass, because he wants her to know he's interested (but he's not sure that he can say that aloud. Just yet. It depends how the rest of the conversation goes). In the kitchen, he takes up a perch right next to where Gillian's working, so that as she moves around preparing cups and teabags and hot water, she has to brush or lean into him. At one point, she has to ask him to move, so she can get spoons from the drawer, so he does so in a minimalistic way. She has to reach right into him, their arms brushing and the electricity flying. Cal's pleased with that; their chemistry has always been amazing and he's glad to see it's not gone (he'll need it to win her over). But it flusters Gillian. It overwhelms her so that they stand staring at each other for a long moment and she fights the urge to kiss him (her heart pounds like crazy). And then the spell wears off, and she can think clearly again, so she puts distance between them. She doesn't see the disappointment in Cal when she does that, because she's more worried about how he makes her feel: out of control. She wants him, badly (because she's missed him badly), but that scares her, because she doesn't know what to expect when it comes to him.

"Why did you come here?" Gillian finally works up the courage to ask, leaning against the bench, picking at a fingernail, avoiding his eye.

"I got the papers."

Gillian's head shoots up and she looks him right in the eye. "Oh," she says and her face is apologetic. "I can explain."

Cal raises a hand to stop her. "There's no need. I signed them already."

"You signed them?" Gillian says, her tone edging into incredulous.

Cal nods. "Came back to deliver them." (It's a weak excuse to come back, but it also felt like maybe it was the nudge he needed to face… his life again).

Gillian's expression falls a little. "You could have mailed them," and her tone is hard.

Yep, Cal knows. His absence was felt and his lack of communication stung. (He kind of knew it would. Well, of course he knew it would. But that still couldn't compel him to pick up the phone, though he did try).

Gillian's eyes narrow slightly. "I didn't want it to happen like that." Her tone is still edgy, but she's working on contrite (and he can see guilt on her features too).

"I get it," Cal tells her, serene, when she thought he would be angry. "I assume you did what you had to do."

"I had to pay off the investors, the bank. We couldn't…"

Cal nods. "I can imagine it'd be too hard to keep the Group going with our extended absences. By the time you got to it, it was a complete mess?"

Gillian twists her lips, which is her way of agreeing, without wanting to. There's more to the story.

"It came out even then?" Cal prompts when Gillian remains silent.

"Well. I made sure everyone got a good bonus."

Cal smiles. Of course she did.

"You didn't read the papers?" Gillian frowns at him, confused.

"I didn't need to. I trust you," Cal tells her. Gillian stares at him for a second. "I figure you made the right decisions, did what needed to be done." He gives a shrug – what else is there to say?

Gillian shifts her weight and doesn't answer, which is her way of saying 'yes'. But for some reason she doesn't want to admit it. She's not showing shame, but perhaps she's not happy? "I made sure you got something too," she mumbles.

Cal hasn't checked his bank account in a while, but he figures she worked a miracle. "Thank you," he says and it draws Gillian's eyes back to his. "I'm sorry to leave it to you to sort out." (He is though. He didn't really think of that when he hid out in LA for over a month. He didn't think about much but himself, to be honest. Sometimes it's needed). Her eyes go a little wider with surprise. Fair enough. He's acting out of character.

"I have something I should tell you," Gillian says as she finishes working (and that gives her a good excuse to not be able to meet his eye). Cal seems content with the silence (he obviously doesn't want to elaborate on the last month), but Gillian has things she needs to talk about. He may have taken off for a month, but her life went on. Things happened. Things she would rather tell him, than have him find out from someone else (and take the wrong way, which will only add more tension to their cauldron, and a part of her wonders why she is _still_ trying to manage him when she doesn't have to anymore. So what if he gets offended and does something stupid? He's not her responsibility anymore. He's not her business partner. She doesn't _need_ him. Wanting him might be a different story though). She plunges on. "I've been… working with Radar."

The smile drops from Cal's face, "You've joined the Radar Group?"

"No," Gillian says firmly and now she can look him in the eye. "It was just a few cases; consultancy work."

"And how was it?" He asks with a hint of antagonism.

Gillian gives a pout of her mouth and a half shrug. It was all right. Actually, it was kind of nice to be doted on a bit, and be so obviously appreciated, but after a few days, laying it on thick like that wore thin.

Cal doesn't look happy, but he's not losing it. "He didn't offer you a job?" He sounds a little incredulous.

Gillian hesitates, "Well he did."

"You should take it," Cal says, at the same time Gillian adds, "I turned it down."

Cal blinks at her. "You did?"

"I don't want to work with Radar," Gillian says indignantly.

"I bet it was good money."

"It was."

"And you turned it down?"

"Do you want me to work with him?"

"No," Cal scoffs. She can see something in his eyes, something that might be pride, or pleasure. "What are you planning on doing next?" He asks and even though Gillian strongly suspects he means with her life, she also can't help but think about this literal moment, about them.

Gillian shrugs. "I don't know yet." And that's true for both of the above.

"Hm," Cal says. He doesn't elaborate and it's on the tip of Gillian's tongue to ask him if he wants to start over (in business, that is). But the sudden thought doesn't slip out of her mouth. While her heart says 'this could be a good idea', her brain is more rational and stops her. Aside from the fact that it was a struggle being in business last time (although, now, with hindsight, she would do some things differently and probably better), there's also the bit about being in business with _Cal_ which complicates the matter further. It's not simple working with Cal. And while she loved it in the beginning… The last few months have reiterated certain things for her, and one of them is that Cal is… he's just not easy to work (be) with. Nothing about this is clear cut anymore.

"What are you going to do next?" Gillian asks him (because she gets the impression he has a plan). But he merely looks thoughtful, and the air thickens around them with renewed tension and silence. The water boils and Gillian goes to reach for the fridge door to get milk. Cal does the same thing at the same time, thinking he'll help. He ends up grabbing her hand as her fingers close around the door handle. She stops and they stand there, essentially holding hands. Cal looks over at Gillian, his heart beating faster, and notices her mouth had dropped open slightly and she's breathing quickly. Her eyes lift to his and he can see that they're dark and full of lust. He licks his lips, the anticipation rife, and tries to decide if he should kiss her now, or maybe wait a bit longer? (Let her see his serious intentions.) Never mind. Gillian kisses him. She can't stand the tension (even though Cal seems so very calm about it all) and really just… she just really wants him (and she misses him. They were interrupted last time. Not just the sex part, they were interrupted in general. After Gillian testified she didn't see much of Cal, and if she did, it didn't work out that they were left alone. Cal didn't sneak into her hotel room again. And then as soon as the verdict was out and he basically disappeared on her. Which reminds her, she's still mad at him about that. But after this…)

Gillian turns over the hand he's holding, so they're palm to palm, and she can hold on to him. Her other hand (her left hand) she slides over his shoulder, so she can hold on to him there too (tightly). Cal pushes his body against hers, presses her back against the edge of the bench she was leaning on a moment ago. She breaks from his mouth to protest and shift her back from the corner of the bench, while he mumbles a quick apology, and then they're mouths are pressed together again. Gillian slides her tongue against his lips and he quickly lets her in, bathes in the warmth of her mouth. Gillian's heart beats wilder and her cheeks flush. The heat coming off Cal's body warms her through and she realises that even though he seems so collected on the outside, it may just be an act; he kisses her with the same amount of desperation she feeds him. They push and pull against each other, wanting to get close, finding a rhythm, touching and exploring (familiarising). Tea completely forgotten, Gillian starts guiding Cal to her bedroom. His hands make their way under her shirt and it's an odd combination of fluency but also novelty; he hasn't been so dexterous with _both_ hands before. And Gillian's not sure if it's because he doesn't have a cast anymore (well, casts), or whether he's just gotten supremely confident, but he does very little wrong either. When she starts to feel like this is being rushed, Cal slows down the pace a notch. When she feels like she might want more attention somewhere else, he seems to pick up on it (or there's amazing coincidence) without her having to say.

Cal undresses all of her carefully, (while she kind of tugs his clothes off him, as much as he'll let her; he seems intent on taking charge of this situation), alighting her skin in excruciating ways. He guides her to the bed, makes her lie back while he gets to his knees on the floor. Holy mother she has waited _so_ long for this. He's kind of polite and delicate to start, but when she urges him on he finds that confidence again (he has, after all, at least started this before. He totally finishes it this time too); explores and anticipates. Damn he's good. It makes her want him inside her badly and when she encourages him up her body, she can feel him hard against her, making her want him so desperately more. She makes it known and the responding growl tingles against her throat. He makes love to her (a slight pause for a breathy rushed conversation about protection. She tells him if he doesn't need to then he doesn't have to and so they don't and she trusts him) and it completely blows her mind. It may very well be the best she's ever had and it might almost make up for the false starts several months ago (although, imagine how incredible it all would have been if it had been like this from the start?) Afterwards, Cal holds her so tightly she has to actually force him back so she's not completely smothered. He kisses her repeatedly, like she's precious and he never wants to let her go (he doesn't) and Gillian gives in to that feeling in her heart that she had been trying to deny since she opened her front door: it feels good to be with him. Safe and special and like it is _right_. There are dangerous thoughts lurking in the back of her head (the L word, but she doesn't love him. She… it wouldn't be logical. They've almost been a disaster; even now they're not on solid ground. How could she fall in love with him?) but she feels so damn content. "That was amazing," she murmurs against his skin, half lying on him (feeling listless and relaxed), her cheek resting against his collar bone, still feeling the increased buzz of her heart rate.

Cal chuckles lightly. "It really was." He kisses her hair again and lowers his voice so it's almost a whisper (and it sends a shiver through Gillian), "This is more like how I imagined we would have done it the first time."

It's not that romantic of a statement (well, maybe it is) but there's so much information in it to tease out and wonder about. Some things Gillian already knows (the bit about him not being happy with their first attempts at sex) but there's new things in there, things that reveal how Cal thinks about them, as a _them_: he's imagined them having sex before (as in, before they did actually have sex). Which means he's, well, thought about them having sex, but more importantly, was it a fantasy for him, a physical thing? Or was he (and this is kind of harder to contemplate) thinking about a relationship-type scenario? Gillian 'hmms' her agreement (she doesn't disagree) but she doesn't know what to say next. The making love thing is different for them. It has, until now, very much felt just like a physical thing between them. She's attracted to him, can't deny that. And she knows Cal has been interested in her (there was a lot of flirting for quite a while). But then there's the things he said at the courthouse (the 'what's next?') that makes her feel like maybe he wants more (she was convinced he did want more. Until he disappeared for over a month and didn't contact her at all). He's confusing.

She wants to tell him off. She wants to demand answers from him. She wants explanations and all of that. But she feels sleepy. And it's so warm against Cal, so… comfortable and content and relaxing in his arms. If it had been like this their first time, this whole thing might have turned out so differently. This doesn't seem like the right time to bring up how much of an ass he can be.

Cal presses his nose into her hair once more. "I'm scared I'm going to break your heart," he murmurs.

"Me too," Gillian responds softly, and she opens her eyes and looks across the room to the dresser where she used to have a picture of her and Alec, and then she closes her eyes again, because she doesn't want to think about heartache in this moment.

Cal's heart pounds. He didn't quite expect himself to say it aloud (and he probably didn't expect her to agree, even if he did actually expect her to agree); he thought she might have already fallen asleep. He's getting braver. He can't quite tell when Gillian actually does fall asleep (she's so languid against him and he doesn't let her go an inch), but he figures she has because she remains quiet and when he shifts in little increments (his bum gets sore resting in one spot) she doesn't respond or counteract. This is nice, laying here with her. This is exactly what he has been looking for. This whole scenario (minus the awkwardness of him being gone for so long and the aftermath of the witness protection thing. That bit is not what he was looking for at all), the love making and the cuddling afterwards and those warm gooey feelings; this is what he wanted for them right from the start. In his perfect world (the world where he worked up the courage to ask her out one night, instead of waiting for her to be damaged by a bomb blast and crawl into his bed seeking comfort), this would have happened differently. But anyway, they're here now and yes, he has a bit more explaining to do, but it feels like this could be the re-start they need (a do-over). But as Cal's thinking over the words he wants to say to her when she wakes up again, he falls asleep himself. And that means he runs the risk of her escaping from bed before he can stop her (which means she can put space back between them, and it will be harder than it already is to tear down her walls. She's built some good ones recently. With the materials he's given her).

**PJ**

Cal startles himself awake. There's that confusion about where he is (because he's not at home and he's not even in the motel) but he feels the dead weight of Gillian laying all over his arm (a leg hooked into his too, and breasts pressed against his skin) and he remembers quickly, and happily (hah! She didn't wake up before him and sneak out). He holds her a little tighter (ok, he gives her quite a squeeze) and she stirs. She makes a noise in her throat but doesn't wake (even though Cal wouldn't mind; he's at that stage where he just wants to talk to her). Cal snuggles his nose into her hair and finally catches the silliness of his behaviour. He's smitten. Best to get that out of his system while Gillian's not looking. He has a reputation to uphold.

Just kidding.

He's ready to show her.

Cal has to pry his arm loose though, because he needs the bathroom. He wakes Gillian a bit more this time, and she curls in on herself, the bed sheet low over her back so he can see the full expanse of her skin and he has to take a second to have a good look (while he pulls on his underwear). God, she's gorgeous. And God, he loves her. He's so in love with her he almost can't stand it. He thinks about waking her right now to tell her. But maybe he should go to the loo first. Except, when he's done with the loo he gets a bit scared (the spell has broken) and so he goes to finish making that tea (might be nicer to disturb her sleep with a little something sweet; good ice breaker). As he's pouring water he hears a noise behind him, and glances over his shoulder. Gillian's standing in the doorway, wearing a tank top (with no bra on, by the way) and cotton shorts (Cal wonders if there's underwear on her lower half). The sun is setting through the kitchen windows and the light casts her in an orange glow; surreal. "I wondered if you had left," she murmurs as she crosses the room and slides her hands over his bare skin, around his waist to hug him from behind.

Damn it. He can't catch a break. "Do you ever sleep in?" He asks.

"Yes," Gillian frowns at the back of his shoulder (before she places a kiss there).

"Hm," Cal grumps, but he's not being serious (and the way she's being affectionate with him right now stirs his insides slowly into a lazy whirlpool). He finishes pouring water and turns for the fridge to get milk (he made it with honey), dislodging Gillian from his skin. "Go back to bed," he tells her quietly and she complies without a word. He dissolves honey, pours milk and puts the kitchen back to its tidy state. He carries two cups down the hall and Gillian is there in bed, waiting for him. She flicks back the sheet and takes the offered mug. Cal settles carefully next to her on the mattress and they sit, backs leaning against the bedhead, in silence for a moment, sipping tea, lost in thought (Cal's lost in thought; Gillian's not sure what to say). Cal warms his palms on the cup (it's not that warm, with all that milk; it is summer after all, and a hot drink isn't always a good thing) and tries to broach the subject of 'them' in a way that's not going to seem abrasive.

Gillian suddenly moves her cup to the bedside table, and then she reaches over and takes Cal's mug too, putting it with hers. He gives her a surprised expression, but doesn't resist, and he grins when she shifts to sit in his lap. She places her hands in the curve of his neck, where it meets his shoulder, framing him, and leans down to kiss him. At first it's just a kiss but she makes her intentions clear quickly. She shifts to kiss his neck, feeling the heat rising but his hands raise to her wrists and he turns his head further away, shifting out of her embrace. "Wait," he murmurs and when she pulls back he looks contrite. "Before this gets too far," he adds and Gillian gives him a second of a frown (really? He's saying stop?). "I think we should talk," Cal finishes.

Gillian opens her mouth slightly in surprise as she looks down at him, but words don't come out. It's not the first time he's wanted to talk, so it shouldn't be that much of a shock, especially in light of the fact that they haven't actually gotten to talk (always interrupted. Doesn't look like it this time), but that doesn't mean Gillian has any idea what she wants to say (ok, that's not true. She has a lot of things she wants to say to him. But she's also come to the conclusion that there might be no longer any point in wasting her breath). Cal's hands settle on her thighs (slightly distracting), and the rubs up and down lightly (way more distracting) and she remains firm in not answering.

"About us," Cal prompts, as if she needs it.

"I don't know what to say," Gillian tells him, and it's the flat out truth.

He smooth's his hands up her thighs again (brushes his thumbs along the inside) and stares up at her. She's very aware that she's sitting on his lap, and that he's wearing nothing but underwear (and that his hands seem to be trailing higher and further and more confidently on her thighs). Cal looks thoughtful for a moment. "Move in with me."

Gillian takes a second to process. "No." (Though her heart beats in a funny way, protesting the decision she's made).

"Why not?" Cal asks sharply.

"I can think of half a dozen reasons why not."

"Let's hear them then," Cal says more calmly, his eyes holding an earnest gaze on hers. She can't think of any reasons why not.

"Why _should_ we live together?"

"Well," Cal says quickly and she knows he's been thinking about this, if he's got his answers already lined up. "I liked living with you in Colorado."

Gillian almost cracks up laughing, but holds it in. A smile escapes her though and Cal grins back at her, and surely he gets the humour in that statement?

"We didn't kill each other," Cal points out, amused (yeah, he gets it). "Aside from… well, I'm house trained," he changes tact. "I cook and do dishes and laundry."

Gillian has to admit that that is true. "Is that the only reason you can come up with?" And yes, if that's it, she's disappointed.

"I liked living with you," Cal repeats but he holds her eye and he lowers his tone and so it looks like he really means it, and that it's a significant reason (and her heart leaps with delight; it's totally on Cal's side. Traitor).

"It's still no Cal," Gillian says softly.

"All right," he says and though he does sound a little disappointed, he's not angry (which is different, given how he likes to get his own way, given how typically poorly he does with hearing 'no'). He rubs her thighs again and seems content but he's thinking how this isn't quite going how he thought it might (given how amazingly they just made love). He maybe didn't account for quite how badly his relationship with Gillian has deteriorated (because usually, the Lightman Charm works a treat). He knew he'd have to convince, but he thought she might not resist so hard (is that arrogant of him?). He's going to have to rethink it a bit; play a longer game. Might have to wear her down more slowly (not wear her down, but, sort of wear her down. That's not what he means. He means… Show her so she doesn't have any more doubts. Because clearly she has them. And why shouldn't she? He's been a real jerk, totally unreliable and not particularly careful with her feelings. And she deserves much more than that, from him, from anyone daring to ask for her heart).

"I don't think…" she starts to explain (because it feels like she should. Even though she doesn't know what she's trying to explain. When it comes down to it, she still doesn't know what she wants from him. She has some ideas, but she's too afraid to flesh them out into something cohesive. She hasn't felt as though Cal was on the same page with her, so why should she waste her time and energy lusting after something she might never get? She wants him. But she also doesn't want him. But she doesn't know how to explain that to him without breaking _his_ heart). She looks down at her hands, which are resting against Cal's chest, almost over his heart, where they've been this whole time, and she thinks it could be symbolic.

"It's all right," Cal says and raises a hand to her cheek, brushing the backs of his fingers against her skin, then tucking her hair behind her ear, cutting her off. He doesn't want for her to have to keep… coddling him (and he thinks maybe she doesn't always do it to satiate something in her, but to keep his keel even. The more he thinks about this, the more he realises how awful he's let it become. And he thought he had this all worked out in California. That's why he stayed away so long. He wanted to be sure). But while he looks up at her, her face hesitant and unsure and apologetic (trouble meeting his eye, and he can see there's a tension in her shoulders, because she holds them higher, around her ears; this conversation makes her incredibly uncomfortable, which makes him feel slightly ill), he also realises, that despite it all, despite the last few months (which weren't even entirely his fault), the last few years (which were entirely his fault) she's still here. _She's still here_. He has to work with that. Even if she's not saying the words, he's got to hear that message loud and clear: she's still here. She hasn't kicked him out. She didn't slam that door in his face. She invited him into her bed and she's not saying 'no' (the moving in thing notwithstanding. It was stupid. He shouldn't have said it. He's not always good at censoring his mouth. But he's definitely going to be working on that too).

"Maybe I could take you out to dinner sometime?" Cal asks.

Gillian meets his eye and she looks curious and thoughtful and confused and unsure all at the same time (and so very gorgeous with it. Time off has been good for her). "Maybe," she says.

**AN: Thank you for reviewing, especially to those who reviewed as a Guest, and who I couldn't personally respond to.**


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